Good Enough for Buffy
by BonnieD
Summary: Sequel to “Playing House.” Spike goes on a quest for humanity. This was written before season 6 finale.
1. Default Chapter

Title: GOOD ENOUGH FOR BUFFY (1/2)  
  
Author: Bonnie  
  
Email: bondav40@yahoo.com  
  
Rating: PG13  
  
Summary: Sequel to "Playing House." Spike goes on a quest for humanity. This was written before season 6 finale.  
  
Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss and UPN.  
  
  
  
"So then the brunette has spent almost all her money buying the bull and has to send a telegram to her sister asking her to come and pick it up with a trailer."  
  
"The blond, right?"  
  
"Well, yeah. Stick with me here," Spike gave Buffy a little pinch on the ass, and continued the story. "She goes to the telegraph office and dictates: "Come and meet me at the station with the trailer. I've got the new bull." The telegraph operator says it'll cost $5.00 to send the message, and you know she only has...."  
  
"$1.00 left after buying the bull, uh-huh. Does this joke ever get to the punch line?"  
  
She could imagine Spike scowling above her, as she pressed her smile against his chest. "Patience! You're always in a rush. Now do you want to hear this or not?"  
  
"Well actually...."  
  
"Shut up. So anyway, the brunette – you remember they're sisters, right?"  
  
"Does that have anything to do with the point of the story?"  
  
(Silence) "Well, anyway she has to cut down the message," he continued in a rush. "So she tells the operator to just write one word 'comfortable.'" Spike paused and waited for a reaction. "Get it? Comfortable!" He chuckled.  
  
"Um, I think you missed a line or something."  
  
"No I......Oh wait, yeah I did. The telegraph man asks, 'Comfortable?' What does that mean?' and the brunette answers, 'My sister reads real slow!' Funny, eh?" Spike tickled her side to get her laughing.  
  
Buffy wiggled and slapped his hand away. "Just a minute. Something's still not right, here."  
  
He sighed in frustration, "Say it out loud real slow. Com-for-da-bull. Now do you get it?"  
  
Buffy was silent another moment then said, "That is the lamest dumb blond joke you've told me yet! Where do you get these?"  
  
"Off the internet."  
  
"Well, stop going online then. And, sweetheart, if you have to tell me goofy jokes, why are they always blond jokes? You and I are both blond....or at least I am."  
  
"Cause they're funny." He began poking through her hair, checking out the roots.  
  
"That's debatable." She squirmed out of his arms, pulling his hand out of her hair and pinning it above him. Climbing on top of his hard, nude body, she put an end to the joke-telling with a deeply satisfying kiss. Before she got him too aroused (which didn't take much for Spike), Buffy slithered back down beside him again.  
  
Nestling her head on his chest she murmured endearingly, "Jackass."  
  
"Bitch," he replied with affection.  
  
One of Spike's arms was wrapped around the Slayer, pulling her close to him, his hand resting on the swell of her hip. He reached his other hand over and began rubbing her back, up and down in long slow strokes. Buffy felt like purring with contentment. Her eyelids began to droop and her thoughts to unfocus, when her lover's quiet voice startled her awake.  
  
"Times like this I almost feel good enough."  
  
"Hm?" she asked, sleepily. "What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"Good enough for you. It almost seems like this is.....right," he remarked off-handedly.  
  
Buffy's eyes flew open and she pushed up onto an elbow to give Spike her patented Buffy-glare. "What are you doing? Fishing for trouble? Don't you dare start that self-effacing bullshit. You are more than 'good enough' for me, and our being together is just fine, or it will be if you'd shut up and let me get some sleep!"  
  
Spike smiled and wrapped a curl of her golden hair around his finger. "Excuse me if I'm a little confused," he teased. "I'm just 'an evil, soulless thing' and don't know any better. Maybe you can explain. Have the rules changed now? Am I not 'beneath you' any more?"  
  
"You're never going to let it go are you?" Buffy grabbed his throat with both hands as if to squeeze the non-existent breath out of him.  
  
"Never," he answered cheerfully, then babbled on, "Don't get me wrong, I like being beneath you, but I like being on top of you, too. And inside goes without saying."  
  
"Seriously, Spike," Buffy ran her hands up from his throat to cradle his face, tracing the finely cut bone structure with her thumbs, "Please don't joke about it anymore. I've apologized 'til I'm blue in the face and it kills me every time you bring it up that I could have actually said such cruel things to you."  
  
"But they're true." He gave a surprised little laugh. "You know they're true. I AM an evil soulless thing and I am beneath you. You're like an avenging angel of good and I'm a demon. You can camouflage it all you like, but facts are facts, luv."  
  
The blond girl shook her head in denial and began to protest, but he put a finger to her lips.  
  
"Listen, pet, I didn't mean to get you all stirred up. I was just saying is all. Just commenting on how grateful I am to be here in your bed instead of laying on a slab in a cold crypt somewhere. Saying I'm happy....with you."  
  
"And I'm happy with you." Buffy felt her lower lip begin to tremble and eyes well with tears. She blinked hard and lowered her head back to Spike's shoulder to hide her emotional state. He listened to her sniff and gulp a little and wondered what he had said to upset her so. After 100 plus years of existence, women were still an enigma at times.  
  
He reconsidered bringing up the topic he'd intended. If this interchange had bothered her, his half-formulated plan was going to send her over the edge.  
  
"'Night, Slayer." He kissed the top of her head and smoothed back the hair from her forehead. God, he loved playing with its softness.  
  
"Goodnight," she replied in a whisper. "Love you."  
  
Now there was a miracle. Buffy saying she loved him. It made Moses parting the Red Sea look kind of insignificant.  
  
Spike lay perfectly still, listening to her breathing slow and deepen until it turned into that familiar little rasping snore. What a love! She never would believe him when he told her about it. When he was sure she was sound asleep, he pulled his arm out from under her and crept silently from the warmth of their bed.  
  
Downstairs and to the laundry room he moved stealthily. From the top cupboard and under some folded rags he drew an ancient, leather-bound book. The title, in gilt letters, was scratched and faded and in some long-dead language. Bits of the pages crumbled at Spike's touch, as he perched on the edge of the dryer and opened the moldy volume to continue his research.  
  
Silent hours passed. Nothing disturbed the night but quiet house-sounds and the turning of pages. After a bit, the vampire pulled a crumpled pack of smokes from the shelf behind the fabric softener sheets and lit one up. There was no need to give up all one's vices for the sake of love. As long as he kept the second-hand smoke away from Dawn and Buffy, they conveniently overlooked the faint tang of tobacco that often permeated the laundry room.  
  
"Bloody Etruscan dialects," Spike complained as he deciphered a complex passage dealing with reanimation of corpses. "Where's the Watcher when you need him."  
  
The rare text was one Spike had lifted from Giles' collection many months ago, before the wanker had returned to England. The bespectacled librarian had been in a frenzy when he began packing and found this book and several others missing, but finally had to give up the search and leave for home without them. For a long time the books had remained hidden in Spike's crypt, almost forgotten, but recently he had finally begun the long delayed task of plowing through the difficult tomes. The mental whip that drove him on was, "There has to be a way."  
  
Over a month ago, Angel had turned up here in his newly human state, trying to win Buffy back. And, although the girl had convinced Spike that her love was all for him now and he should stay with her, he hadn't forgotten the very excellent points his sire had made about their future together. Long-term, this romance was hopeless. Something had to change, and that something was Spike. If he couldn't bring himself to leave her, he would have to find a way to become what she needed.  
  
Spike had begun his nightly campaign of searching for any reference to restoring vampires to their mortal state. He hadn't enlisted the aid of any of the gang because he didn't want to share his quest with Buffy until he had some concrete information to offer. The stubborn woman was as blind to his lack of humanity now as she had been quick to bring it up before. Tonight he had come close to sharing his thoughts, but her denial that there was any problem to be overcome had stilled his tongue. Wrapped in new love, she refused to face facts.  
  
But Spike was determined to face them for her. He would do whatever needed to be done, try what had to be tried, to correct his soulless state. Restoring the soul would not be enough, however. Human life would have to accompany it. That was the only thing that would make him good enough for Buffy. Kids and someone to grow old with, isn't that what all these humans wanted?  
  
Suddenly the vamp's eyes were riveted to the page. He read the passage that had caught his attention through, breaking it apart piece by piece to make sure he had translated correctly. He read it through once more. This could be.....no, it couldn't be that simple! Spike devoured the information yet again.  
  
"What are you doing?" Dawn spoke through a yawn from the doorway. He dropped the book and jumped off the dryer at the sound.  
  
"Christ in a sidecar, what the hell are you doing? You bloody nearly gave me a heart attack."  
  
Dawn opened the door the rest of the way and came padding into the room, stopping to pick up the book he had dropped. "What are you reading? Hey, isn't this one of the books Giles was looking for?"  
  
"No! Give me that. What are you doing up, anyway? You should be in bed."  
  
"Can't sleep. Hungry. Is there any of that chocolate mousse left from dinner?"  
  
"Why don't you go and see," Spike said, snatching the book from her hands.  
  
Dawn put her hands on her hips and slightly cocked her head in a stance that mirrored her older sister. "You should know by now you can't hide anything from me. I invented sneaky. What's up?"  
  
The blond vampire glowered at her, set the book down on the appliance behind him, and crossed his arms.  
  
"Come on. You tell me or I tell Buffy. Spill!" she demanded.  
  
He rolled his eyes and sighed exaggeratedly. "Oh, bollocks!" He clenched and unclenched his jaw a couple of times, then asked, "Can you keep a secret?"  
  
"Of course! I haven't told anyone that Janice went all the way with Brad Stiller."  
  
"Well, you just told me didn't you?"  
  
"You don't count. I mean I haven't told anyone at school. Jeez Spike, what could be such a big deal....just tell me already."  
  
"I'm....I'm looking for a way to become human." It sounded lame saying it out loud, but Dawn didn't doubt the possibility for a second. Her eyes grew huge and she jumped at him to pull him into a bear hug.  
  
"Oh my God! I can't believe it. This is.....this is friggin' unbelievable!"  
  
He smiled as he extricated himself from her grip. "Yeah, well, it's not done yet. Don't know if it even can be done."  
  
"Angel...." Dawn began.  
  
Spike snorted, "He's a 'special' case. Marked by God or some such rot. Prophecies and all that. The normal rules don't apply to him. It's going to be a little harder for me."  
  
"Well, did you find anything?" Dawn asked, starting to leaf through the disintegrating pages of the book.  
  
"Actually, I might have." He stood next to her and turned to the page he had been studying. "Right here, it says.... 'One whose breath has ceased to flow, who is....er....has not the mark of Yaweh,' that's God, 'untouched by time and barren of life, moving through eternity in bloodlust. To such as this a....a....favor?....no, blessing be shown. A blessing be shown. A casting out and a drawing in. May this newly pure vessel be filled again with the Spirit showered out over all.' That's it. That's all I've got so far."  
  
"Wow. That's......cryptic. What do you think it means?"  
  
"When a vampire is made, a demon enters and the human soul is expelled. But the soul still exists somewhere....floating around in limbo, I guess. So - reverse it. Cast out the demon and summon back the soul."  
  
"But, Spike....." Dawn said hesitantly. "Will you still be you? Or will you be who you were before? What happens to your personality?"  
  
"I don't know," he shrugged. "I still have all the memories of William and some character traits. I guess the demon part of me is all mixed up with the human that lived in this body before. Hell, I don't know how it works, but I've got to do something!"  
  
"Well," Dawn said soothingly. "It sounds possible. But who do you think could do it? Maybe a priest or shaman? There's St. Mary's over on Fifth Street. We should talk to the priest there."  
  
"Bit, 'we' shouldn't do anything. Whatever I decide to do, I'll do alone, and I don't know what my plan is yet."  
  
"Oh come on! You're just like the rest of them. You think I can't be useful at all! Well, believe me if I've learned one thing from hanging out with the Scoobies it's how to do research. Oh, I know! I'll go to Father Whoever at the Catholic church and say I'm doing a report on possession and exorcism for school. If I sound all scholarly about it, I can milk all sorts of information out of him. What do you think?"  
  
Her young face was alive with excitement, and Spike had to smile back. There was no way he was going to burst her bubble as the rest of the 'team' had so often done. Surely there'd be no harm and maybe even some help in letting her ask questions on his behalf. He took the book from her hand, and gave her a curt little nod.  
  
"Sure, sweetness. I'd appreciate the leg-work. Just remember….."  
  
"I know how to keep my mouth shut, Spike. Don't even say it." She gave him a quick hug. "This is so exciting! There's no way I'm getting back to sleep tonight."  
  
"As long as I don't hear you complain about getting up for school in the morning, I don't care how long you stay awake. Move along, girl."  
  
"'Night, Spike." She padded out of the room again. He waited until she'd left to secret the book in its hiding place, smiling affectionately at her youthful enthusiasm. That Dawn was a little firecracker when she wasn't whining.  
  
He lit another cigarette and stepped out the back door into the energy of night to savor it. A breeze stirred his rumpled hair and he lifted his nose into the air to scent out the many kinds of prey that roamed the night. His blood began to rise at the thought of the chase and kill. How he missed tearing into a jugular and feeling the rich, ripe blood flooding his mouth and filling his senses. Just the thought set him panting and the smooth human features shimmered into the ridges of his true demon self. Ah, this was no good. There could be no relief for him tonight or any night. Shaking his head, he forced the demon down. He went back inside the house, which suddenly felt like a cage, to pour a mug of cold animal blood and chug it down with a grimace.  
  
Carefully rinsing all traces of blood down the drain (the girls hated to see it), he set the mug in the sink and returned to the cozy love nest he shared with Buffy. He stood beside the bed for a moment, watching her sleep and remembering why it was worth it to be neutered. Then he slipped into the warmth beside her, pressing her precious soft flesh against him; holding her tightly the night through as he lay wide awake watching the quality of light in the room slowly shade toward morning.  
  
**************  
  
Dawn was good as her word over the next few days as she researched the topic of exorcism on the net, at the library, and with Father Ryan, who was a font of information, AND kept her mouth shut as promised. On the pretext of working on a paper for literature class, Dawn spent hours pursuing Spike's goal. Every night she shared what she'd learned, and by the end of the week had convinced the vampire to contact a Native American shaman living in Arizona, whom she had discovered in her online search.  
  
"I don't know," Spike frowned at the web page Dawn showed him. "It sounds a little 'Miss Cleo'. How do we know he's legit?"  
  
"Hey, holy guys have to make a living, too. I think his site is very tastefully done. It's not like it blares, "Exorcisms R Us." Believe me, in all the reading I've done Sam Fairman's name has come up again and again. People refer to him as an expert and seem to really believe in him. Anyway, it can't hurt to at least give him a call. Come on."  
  
Spike grumbled a little more, but picked up the phone.  
  
A day later he was speeding through the desert in his blacked out car on his way to his destiny, tape deck blaring the Ramones. A curtain of smoke shrouded the inside of the vehicle which had reached an unbearable 105 degrees under the blazing sun. Spike didn't notice the heat, as he sang along to the music, nervously tapping the beat out on the steering wheel.  
  
He had left Buffy with a vague story about visiting an old friend. Actually, he hadn't spoken to her so much as left her a note. He knew he couldn't look in those beautiful hazel eyes and tell a believable story, and he knew that if he didn't make a move right away he would never be able to tear himself away from her. There would always be an excuse to put it off one more day and one more day. It frightened him that he might lose himself completely in the struggle to become something better, and that he might lose her love in the process.  
  
Dawn had hugged him fiercely that morning before she left for school.  
  
"You're going today, aren't you?" she'd whispered. "Don't you think you should at least talk to Buffy about it first? We don't know what this....this operation is going to do to you, how it might change you. Talk to her! Don't just leave."  
  
"Don't worry. I'm just checking this guy out for now. I'll be right back, the same old Spike."  
  
"Well....just in case something happens....." Dawn placed a photo of herself and Buffy on the kitchen counter. "Put that in your pocket. Our address is on the back so you can find your way home again." The coltish girl gave him one last searching look, then picked up her backpack and headed off to school.  
  
"Dawn left on time for a change?" Buffy said, rushing through the kitchen and grabbing her toaster strudel as she passed. "I have to go in early today. Starting a new tiny tots gymnastics class at 7:00 and I can't be late. See you." She brushed a quick kiss across his lips and started to fly, but he caught her in a vise-like grip and held her back.  
  
"You kiss me good and proper or you're going nowhere," he groused, and proceeded to demonstrate the kind of lip action he wanted, pinning her between his body and the kitchen counter and devouring her with affection.  
  
After a minute she broke away, laughing. "Enough, Spike. Enough. I really gotta go. Love you." She smiled at him like the sun breaking through winter clouds, the kind of smile he used to dream of receiving from her, then was gone.  
  
"That's the last time I'm going to see that girl," he thought gloomily, then tidied up the kitchen before writing his note.  
  
So now, here he was storming through the sandy landscape an hour before sunset, riding on E because he couldn't stop to fill it up, and hoping the witch doctor Dawn had picked out for him wasn't a big fake.  
  
*************  
  
"What do you mean there's just a note." Willow's voice was concerned as she tried to calm Buffy down over the phone.  
  
"What do you mean what do I mean. It's just a note. It says he's gone to visit an 'old friend' for a few days and will be back 'sometime' soon. What the hell is that?!! He didn't give me any warning about this. Never mentioned it," Buffy's voice was starting to rise in panic again.  
  
"Dawn....?"  
  
"She doesn't know anything. Went to Janice's after school. There was a message on the machine. The house was dark and then....there was this note. Wil, I don't know what to do. I'm so scared. Something awful's happened. I just know it," Buffy's voice trailed off into a whisper and tears. Willow could barely make out her last choking words. "He's not coming back. He's left me."  
  
"I'll be right over. Just stay there."  
  
Buffy set down the phone with exquisite carefulness, as her legs crumpled beneath her and she slipped, almost in slow motion, down to the floor. 'That kiss this morning. It was a goodbye kiss. He's gone. Gone. Left me.' She drew her knees up to her chest, hugged her arms around them and let out a long, keening wail of misery.  
  
************  
  
It was almost midnight when Spike arrived at the little ranch style house in a neighborhood of similar houses. He looked at the perfectly ordinary home then back at the address he had written down. He stepped up onto the porch and rang the bell. In a few moments the door was opened by a stout, middle-aged man with weathered brown skin and black hair shot through with silver. He was dressed in a sweatshirt which proclaimed his allegiance to Arizona State and a pair of jeans. His broad face cracked in a smile, which showed startlingly white teeth.  
  
"Hey there! You the guy that's been looking for me? Come on in. I'm Sam Fairman.." He stuck out a hand. Spike shook it uncertainly. He wasn't accustomed to such human formalities.  
  
"I'm…um….William."  
  
"Well, William, I don't know if I can give you what you need or not, but let's go sit down, have a cup of coffee and talk about it." The shaman led the way through the living room where Spike caught a glimpse of eclectic styles of furniture and piles of books on every available surface, then into a tiny kitchen.  
  
"Take a seat," his host said. He grabbed a pair of mugs and poured out some coffee, then sat at the kitchen table across from the vampire. Spike was busily taking in every detail of the magic master's home and finding it quite a surprise.  
  
"Like the kitchen? I just refinished the cabinets." Sam gestured at the oak cupboards. "Man, what a job that was!"  
  
"You don't have a lot of…..uh…..tools of your trade lying around, do you?" The commonplace appearance of the home was making Spike doubt the man's credentials.  
  
"Naw. Chicken feet and gourd rattles, pah. They're just props. The real power comes from in here," the dark-haired man tapped his temple with an index finger. His brown eyes scanned Spike and read him like a book. "You were expecting maybe a teepee and me in a loincloth? Believe me, my body would not be a pleasant sight in that!" He laughed heartily and Spike gave a tentative smile, then reached into his coat pocket for a pack of smokes and shook one out.  
  
"Do you mind?" he asked.  
  
"Hell no. I'll join you." The shaman rose and went to retrieve a carved pipe and tobacco pouch from the other room. Sitting down again, he lit Spike's cigarette, then puffed his pipe into life. The sweet aroma of cherry tobacco soon permeated the room.  
  
"I'm a little unclear on what exactly you want me to do for you, William. You were kind of vague on the phone. Resurrection? Exorcism? Why don't you tell me the whole story so I can see what we're dealing with here?"  
  
"You're not going to believe me."  
  
"I've seen some pretty strange things in my career. Try me."  
  
Spike shrugged and succinctly mapped out his story from his turning through the present in a handful of sentences. It amazed him that his whole bloody life could be condensed into such a short paragraph. "Listen, I'm here because I understood you can do exorcisms," he finished. "Do you? Have you? Cause if you're wasting my time….."  
  
"I've done my share," Sam was suddenly quiet and serious. "I know you're really nervous so let's get started, eh? Let me have a look at what's going on inside that brain of yours." Before Spike could respond, the medicine man stood again, walked over and placed his hands on the blond head. Silence fell over the room, disturbed only by the tick of a clock and the pht, pht sound of the shaman's pipe, as it billowed aromatic smoke through the kitchen.  
  
Spike felt his eyes beginning to weigh heavy. His cigarette, forgotten, burned steadily down in his hand. 'Something more than tobacco in that pipe,' he though idly, as his mind spun lazily away through space. The anxieties he had allowed to build within him over the past few months, drained away at the master's touch.  
  
"Hm…."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I can feel that man-made bit floating around in all the organic matter, but it ain't working. I can tell you that. Whatever signal it may have been giving out before, it's dead now."  
  
"WHAT?!!"  
  
"Yep. Not activated. I couldn't tell you for how long, but you've been going without for at least a little while now."  
  
"That's impossible! I haven't felt any different. I haven't tried to…."  
  
"You haven't attacked anyone because you're conditioned now," the shaman's voice was quiet and hypnotic. "There's more....Listen." Spike waited patiently as the vibration of the hushed room deepened and the silence began to take on an almost palpable quality.  
  
"I feel....conflict," the master intoned. "A dark force, full of savage violence which controls this body, but also.....something.....pure and light, struggling to make a place for itself. Have you had headaches recently?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"That's symptomatic of this internal struggle. There is a great battle.......A soul which has floated, disembodied is trying to re-enter, to reclaim what was lost. A great force of love is driving it, supporting it. But the demon is reluctant to give up its host."  
  
Spike listened in a drowsy stupor and wondered vaguely what in the hell he was doing here. It was true. Damn right he didn't want to be expelled from this body into some realm of hell.  
  
"But this demonic force is no longer strictly evil. It has metamorphasized into something new. Savage it may be, but not cruel. Paradise lost can be regained."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Angels cast from heaven for the sin of pride became the beings called demons. It can be reversed."  
  
"You telling me I could become a fucking angel? No thanks!" Spike shook his head to clear it from the haziness and glared up at the shaman, who let his hands drop to his sides.  
  
"Yes. I think maybe I can help you," Fairman stated simply. "But you're going to have to put yourself in my hands and trust me. Do you? Trust me?"  
  
Spike hesitated, then nodded.  
  
"Good," Sam nodded back. He resumed his seat and took a long drink from his cup of coffee, considering the complexities of the creature seated across from him. Finally he spoke. "There are a number of things going on in there, and we could try a couple of solutions. The most obvious method would be what you suggested, cast out the demon and invoke the old soul to enter. That's pretty straight forward and I think I could make it work."  
  
Spike's stomach dropped at the words. It was what he had both hoped for and feared.  
  
"But then you wouldn't be you, eh?" the shaman said with a smile. "You don't really want to be banished from this body. Am I right? So I'm thinking some kind of purification is in order. Maybe a melding of the disparate parts of you, demon and human soul, to make an integrated whole."  
  
"Get in touch with my inner human? Oh, that's rich," Spike scoffed.  
  
"You're not as Bad as you think you are," Sam teased. "The demon has been forged and changed by love into something....other. Now it's just a matter of convincing it....you....to embrace the soul, welcome it in, and become an entirely new being."  
  
Spike considered that. It sounded better than his original plan, which he'd never been really thrilled about thinking he'd be on the losing end of the deal. "Would....would I still be me? Would I have all my memories?"  
  
"Don't know. Never tried anything like this. Who knows, I might muck it up entirely and just obliterate you." The man chuckled, but his client glared menacingly. "Aw come on, lighten up."  
  
"Anyone ever tell you you have a shitty bedside manner?"  
  
"I'm just letting you know this isn't 100% guaranteed, but I wouldn't make an attempt if I didn't think I could do it." The shaman smiled reassuringly. Spike wasn't reassured. "You got someplace to stay around here? If not you can bed down out in my shed. Think about it for a couple of days, and decide what you want to do. Maybe there's somebody back home you need to call? Just don't run up my bill, okay."  
  
"Yeah. That'd be good. Don't need to make a call, though." The idea of speaking to Buffy was formidable. He knew the sound of her voice might make him drop everything and run home to the shelter of her arms.  
  
Spike rose from his seat, then paused as it occurred to him they hadn't discussed payment. "How much is this gonna cost me?"  
  
Sam waved a hand. "Gratis. Anything for the sake of love. I'm a sucker for a good love story. Maybe there'll come a day you or your lady can help me out."  
  
The vampire was touched but he'd be damned if he ever let that show, so he curtly nodded his thanks and allowed himself to be led outside to a small tool shed. Its thin metal roof seemed frighteningly little protection against the Arizona sun that would soon be blazing in the sky.  
  
*************  
  
Dawn regarded her haggard looking sister over her morning glass of orange juice, eyes wide and innocent.  
  
"Are you sure he didn't say anything....ANYTHING you can think of......yesterday when you talked to him before school?" Buffy grilled.  
  
"Nope. Just the usual, 'Mind the teacher' and "Come straight home.' It's his mantra. His mother must have said it to him growing up. It's kinda cute," Dawn tried to sidetrack the conversation.  
  
Tears sprang again to Buffy's eyes as she realized how little she had ever bothered to find out about Spike's past. She'd been so afraid to brush against the evil he'd done as a vampire, that she'd never thought to ask about his human life, and he'd never volunteered anything. They had kept their relationship perpetually in the now, since the future was a taboo subject as well. Oh, the hundreds of questions she would ask now if she could only have him back again.  
  
Her dread had grown increasingly since the previous evening. She had cried herself out on Willow's shoulder, broken the news to Dawn, who seemed suspiciously unsurprised, and then lain wide awake and dry-eyed in her bed the rest of the night, cursing the stupid vampire. Meanwhile, the certainty that he would not return burned like molten lead in the center of her belly.  
  
"Well," she cleared her throat, "if there's something you're not telling me, Dawn, now's the time...."  
  
"Buffy, has it occurred to you that maybe the note means exactly what it says? He'll be back within a week. I'm sure of it. Jeez, have a little faith."  
  
Again, her sister thought the teenager sounded unnaturally bright and confident. What was up here? The Slayer pierced her younger sibling with a dangerous glare and began the questioning in earnest.  
  
*************  
  
Spike cried out and woke with a jerk in the sweltering mid-afternoon heat of the shed. In his dream, Glory/Buffy had been torturing him again, only this time she had been pulling him apart piece by piece, tossing the bits gaily around like confetti. "You won't need THIS anymore; a severed finger shot across the room. And THAT never looked good on you anyway; playing hackysack with his balls. There won't be a smidgeon of you left when I'm done here," she whispered through her ruby red lips. Her eyes widened in sympathy. "Poor wittle Spike. Lost it all for the sake of love." She reached into his chest, grabbed his heart, gave it a twist and growled, "How touching!"  
  
He sat up clutching his chest, feeling for that non-existent heartbeat. "This is bloody insane! What the hell am I doing here?" He leaped up and threw on his clothes and shoes. "Getting out, that's what. If I'm not good enough for her, well that's just too damn bad. She knew what she was getting when she took me in." His bootlace broke as he yanked it hard. "Fuck! fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck." He screamed in rage. The metal walls reverberated with the sound.  
  
Spike covered himself with the duster then made a mad dash to Fairman's house. He crashed open the front door without knocking and spilled into the front hall.  
  
"Hey there. Look who's up," the shaman glanced, unperturbed from the book he was reading. "I picked up a little something for you to drink if you're hungry. Was that you makin' all the noise just now? I thought....."  
  
"Look. I changed my mind. I'm not interested. I'm leaving now."  
  
"Well, that's up to you," Sam paused, then added thoughtfully, "But if you were going to leave, why didn't you just do it?"  
  
"What?" Spike searched his mind for the reason he had come in here instead of heading straight for his car. "Because....because it's rude to just leave?"  
  
"Come on now. I don't think worry about being rude ever bothered YOU before." Sam let that thought hang, while he rose and went to get his guest a fresh bag of blood. "Why don't you sit down and have a little something before you hit the road."  
  
Spike trailed after him into the kitchen and sat at the table again. He numbly took the mug that was thrust into his hands, and gazed at the red liquid within. Suddenly the sight and smell of it turned his stomach.  
  
"No thanks. Not hungry," he said, pushing the cup across the table.  
  
"That's just as well. These kinds of things tend to work better after a fast," Sam replied.  
  
The vampire sighed and gave up the pretense of having a will of his own. It was all about Buffy now and he might as well submit to whatever was going to happen.  
  
Sam smiled sympathetically, again reading him like a book, "Love got you by the shorthairs, huh?"  
  
"Let's get this the hell over with," the vampire said. "What do you have to do?"  
  
***************  
  
Buffy gripped the steering wheel of Xander's car with white-knuckled intensity. She never had liked driving. Even these wide-open desert roads where there wasn't another car in sight made her uncomfortable. Besides, she was busy inventing the many ways she was going to make Spike suffer for what he'd put her through once she'd caught up with him. Beating the crap out of the patronizing wanker was just the beginning of it. How dare he make a decision that affected both of them without consulting her at all? And to add insult to injury, Dawn knew all about it!  
  
It hadn't been too hard to crack the girl once Buffy realized she knew something more than she was letting on. Dawn's initial excitement over Spike's plan had shaded to fear when she thought about all that could go wrong if the attempt failed. Suddenly the adventure of the vampire seeking his humanity seemed a dangerous folly. Buffy's frightened face brought her down to earth with a thump and soon Dawn was sharing everything and apologizing like crazy.  
  
"Just go to school," the Slayer said through tight lips. "I don't want to discuss this with you now. You can tend to yourself afterward. I won't be here."  
  
"Please, Buffy, I want to go with you. This is all my fault! I shouldn't have helped him with this hare-brained scheme."  
  
"No. You shouldn't have. And no, you're not coming with me."  
  
"It seemed like a good idea.....Spike made it sound so reasonable. What if we never get him back?" Dawn began to whine.  
  
"I don't have time for this. Go." Buffy rose and went for the phone, while a chastened Dawn set off for school.  
  
Xander had been unthrilled about the idea of lending his old clunker to Buffy, but after all this time he knew better than to stand in the way of a Slayer on a mission. She steamrolled right over his protests and had his keys in hand in less than a half an hour.  
  
"Just remember she leaks oil so you have to check it now and....Buffy are you listening to me?" The engine was roaring as she over-fed it gas. "Oh God, protect my little Tessie." Xander called down a blessing on his poor car as Buffy backed jerkily out of the drive and onto the street.  
  
Now, twenty miles from her destination and more than twenty-four hours behind Spike, the blond girl continued to drive like a fury. She shouted out curses and things she'd say to him when she got the chance, mixed with prayers to God to make him be safe and whole when she found him.  
  
*****************  
  
"Three.....two.....one. Now you're totally relaxed. Couldn't move a muscle if you tried. Just floating and hearing my voice."  
  
"I don't think you can hypnotize me, mate," the vampire muttered.  
  
"Try lifting your arm," the shaman said quietly. Spike struggled to pull his arm free from the bands that seemed to be tying it to the floor.  
  
"Can't," he answered.  
  
"That's right. But it's good. Don't fight it. You need to be awake and aware, but totally at rest and in tune with me. Okay?"  
  
"Mm-hm."  
  
"Good." The holy man began to chant Navajo words as the smell of burning sage grew stronger in the room and smoke hazed the air. The song wove itself into Spike's head and he suddenly felt that he understood the words, that he understood a great many things....the kind of things that usually float on the edge of perception. His consciousness expanded, opening like a flower to the great white light Sam Fairman was channeling into him.  
  
His awareness extended beyond this body, this room, this little world, to embrace the universe and more. It was a heady experience and humbling. As a vampire he had been so arrogantly sure of his powers and superiority over weak humans. Now he saw what a shallow and broken creature he had been; empowered with nothing that mattered and living in ignorant darkness. Only he had been lucky, the blazing light of love he carried for Buffy had pierced the cocoon and brought the beginning of healing.  
  
The shaman, continually chanting, reached his hands out and placed them over Spike's heart. In the vampire's vision, where all beings and things were fabricated of energy, Sam's hands glowed like a white-hot fire. Spike gasped in shock at the touch, remembering that Glory bitch poking around in his insides. The fire flooded from the healer into his patient, burning away darkness and decay and leaving behind a steaming trail of purity. Spike felt a loss of consciousness and struggled feebly to hold on to the parts of him that were being stripped away. At the same time, he became aware of another entity near him; something vaguely familiar but long forgotten. This must be the prodigal soul come home to roost.  
  
'Is there going to be any of ME left? I'm a demon, damn it. This is so wrong,' the shreds of his mind protested.  
  
'Stop struggling. Embrace it.' the shaman silently instructed.  
  
'Sod off. Get out of my head. I don't want this.' He flailed against the tide of fire.  
  
'Just think of her,' came the response. 'Hold onto that thought, then take the next step.'  
  
Spike fixed the most beautiful picture of his beloved he had in the forefront of his mind and concentrated on it. It was from just a few weeks ago, when she had been at the beach all day with her friends. She had rolled in late in the afternoon, flushed and sweaty with sun-streaked hair – just glowing with life, as he was waking for the evening. Bouncing down next to him on the bed, sprinkling him with sand, she laughed and chattered about the gorgeous day. White teeth flashing in her tanned face, hazel eyes sparkling; he was entranced by her beauty and barely registered her words. 'Wish you could have been there.' she finished. 'Me too, luv,' he had replied and felt an aching loneliness, knowing he never would share a day like that with her. Happy, sun-dappled Buffy. That was the goal he mustn't forget.  
  
'I'm ready,' he sent a mental message.  
  
'Take it in,' the master replied. 'Join with the soul. Become one.'  
  
Inside Spike flexed and reached out the tentacles of thought energy toward the glowing form, which effortlessly accepted his grasp and flowed into....through...him. They were joined, entwined, separate but unison at the same time.  
  
'Not so bad,' he thought. At that moment all his bodily functions kicked in at once, and he passed out of conscious thought.  
  
****************  
  
Xander's old Datsun came to a screeching halt, parked with one wheel up on the curb, the motor chattering to a stop long after Buffy had left the car and was halfway up the walk to Fairman's house. As Spike had done the evening before, she looked at the house and rechecked the address on the computer printout Dawn had given her. Ablaze with righteous fury, the Slayer decided if this quack had messed up her honey she was going to disembowel him. She knocked sharply on the door. Waited. Knocked again. What the hell? They'd probably gone out into the desert to some mystical site to perform whatever insane ritual......The door opened.  
  
Sam Fairman blinked in surprise at the vengeful golden goddess on his front porch.  
  
"Where is he?!" she snarled, pushing past him into the house.  
  
"Shhh. Calm down. He's okay. Just resting." The shaman took her arm in what was meant to be a comforting grip. She coldly stared him down and he dropped it. "Over here...."  
  
"Spike?!!" She caught sight of him, neatly laid out on the hooked rug that covered the living room floor, a heavy wool blanket tucked in around him. "What did you do? What the HELL did you do to him?" she yelled, running to his side and dropping to her knees.  
  
"It's all right. He's only sleeping," Fairman soothed.  
  
She reached out to stroke the contours of his pale face and drew back as though stung.  
  
"He's hot!" She watched the slight rise and fall of the blanket that covered him. "He's breathing!! Oh my god. You did it," she whispered. Sinking back on her heels, she pressed both hands to her mouth and simply stared, wide-eyed in shock.  
  
Sam moved quietly into the room behind her, seated himself and waited for her to speak. Finally she was able to manage a few questions.  
  
"When....How long ago.....? What did you do?"  
  
"He's been like this for about an hour. I practiced a ritual purification and called back the soul that was banished from this body."  
  
"And what about Spike? Is he still in there somewhere? Who will he be when he wakes up?"  
  
"I'd like to tell you everything will be fine and he'll be just the same as always, but I honestly don't know what to expect. Some elements of the being you knew will be there, but others may be missing, and his memory might be totally stripped. I just can't give you an answer. We'll have to wait and see."  
  
Buffy opened her mouth to protest? chastise? argue? continue to seek reassurance? but never had the opportunity to find out which it was as the figure by her side began to stir. A moan and flutter of eyelids caught her attention. She clutched his hand and peered into his face. "Spike? Spike, can you hear me? Wake up. Open your eyes."  
  
He obeyed, staring blankly up at her.  
  
"Hey," she breathed. "I'm here. How are you feeling?"  
  
The blue eyes watched her lips move, scanned her face, but registered no recognition. Buffy began to feel uneasy.  
  
"It's me, Buffy. Don't you know me?"  
  
He continued to gaze at her with the wide-eyed innocence of a newborn lamb or a brain-fried newly human vampire.  
  
"Sweetheart, it's me!" she was truly panicked now. His lips opened slightly as though to speak, but no sound emerged. He blinked and began to look around the room.  
  
The Slayer turned to the shaman in fury, "What have you done? You broke him!"  
  
(To be continued in two alternate versions) 


	2. 1st Ending

Title: GOOD ENOUGH FOR BUFFY – 1st Ending (2/2)  
  
Author: Bonnie  
  
Email: bondav40@yahoo.com  
  
Rating: R (for brief sex scene)  
  
Summary: Part 2 of the sequel to "Playing House." What's a humanized Spike like? Alternate ending will follow.  
  
Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss and UPN.  
  
Part 2 (1st Ending)  
  
It was three weeks since Spike reclaimed his humanity and lost his mind; three weeks of rediscovering the world like an infant; three weeks of needing a babysitter round the clock. Buffy would leave him at the Magic Box with Anya in the morning, and Dawn would pick him up there after school. He was very malleable, allowing himself to be led here and there and staying where he was put with no fuss at all. He was a giant sponge, absorbing the sights and sounds of the world around him, and giving nothing back. His once expressive face was devoid of any emotion. He made no attempt to communicate, but seemed to understand rudimentary commands if enough gestures accompanied them. "Walk here! Sit there! Eat that! Stay!"  
  
Buffy and Dawn had quickly taught him how to dress and undress, use the bathroom (with Xander's reluctant help), and eat with utensils. These simple acts seemed to be regained with no effort. His motor skills were unimpaired. However, speech and complex thought were slow to return. Looking into Spike's empty blue eyes was heartbreaking.  
  
The Slayer sat on the couch near her fractured lover on this particular evening watching him intently study the pages of the picture book Dawn had bought him earlier that week. Her sister sat at Spike's side pointing to a photo of a kitten playing with a ball of yarn.  
  
"See....KITTEN," she sounded out carefully. "It goes 'miaou'. Kitten, soft."  
  
Spike smiled slightly at the funny meowing sound Dawn had made, then turned the page.  
  
Buffy sighed and returned unseeing eyes to the TV where an endless tape of "Passions" played. She hoped the repetition of the make-believe images might stir a memory in his mind that the real world was not reaching.  
  
Closing her eyes and resting her head against the back of the couch, she reviewed all that had happened since Spike regained consciousness at Sam Fairman's house. Buffy had been simultaneously aghast and ecstatic on discovering the shaman had been able to restore her lover to human life. But it quickly became apparent that the person she knew and loved was either gone or deeply buried, and she wasn't sure there was any of 'her' Spike in there to reclaim. She also wasn't sure how she felt about this childlike stranger inhabiting his body.  
  
"Give him time," the shaman had counseled. "Memories may start coming back here and there or maybe in one big rush."  
  
"Or maybe never," Buffy had mumbled.  
  
Sam put a hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes. "Be patient and don't give up hope. I'm sure there's something of your man still surviving."  
  
Buffy had spent the night on the shaman's couch, resting fitfully and watching Spike sleeping peacefully curled up on the floor. In the morning she had packed her vacant boyfriend into Xander's rusty Datsun and headed back across the desert toward California. Buffy had snagged a couple of Spike's favorite tapes from his car, which Fairman had agreed to keep temporarily, and listened to the head-banging music all the way back to Sunnydale. The beautiful, blond stranger next to her just sat quietly gazing out the window.  
  
All the way home she talked to him about himself and their life together, and what little she knew of his life prior to that, trying to bring forth some spark of recognition. Nothing stirred in the smooth complacency of his face. Buffy ached as if part of her had been amputated.  
  
The couple had arrived home late that evening to find Dawn anxiously waiting on the front porch. At first sight of the Datsun, she jumped up and ran down the walk to the road. Buffy had called from a rest stop and left a message earlier in the day to let Dawn know how things stood and what time to expect them. Now the girl was anxious to check out the damage for herself. She practically tore the passenger door off its hinges getting to Spike.  
  
"Oh my God! I can't believe it, Buffy. He really is alive," she exclaimed as her sister stretched the kinks out of her back from the long drive. "Hey, Spike. How are you feeling?"  
  
He looked through her, and Dawn was galvanized with horror at the mindless lump.  
  
"I told you, Dawnie. There's nobody home," the Slayer said quietly, helping to guide the unresisting ex-vampire out of the car. "I think he can hear, and maybe understand some stuff, but....." she shrugged, too exhausted to find anything comforting to say to Dawn.  
  
The sisters had led Spike into the house and sat him at the table while Dawn threw together a quick dinner and Buffy called the rest of the gang to let them know the news. Over the next few days all of the Scoobies, even Xander, had been supportive in every way they could, supplying meals and Spike-sitting as needed.  
  
Incidents from the past were dragged out as each person told stories of their personal history with Spike, trying to jog his memory. The troubles he'd caused, lies he'd told and times he'd tried to kill them were suddenly transformed into fondly recalled anecdotes. The many times he'd helped the gang were also brought out and re-examined. And each of them began to appreciate how much the vampire had woven himself into the fabric of their lives.  
  
But, as the days passed, there was little change in the soporific nature of the newly minted human. Buffy began to fear there were no memories left in this shell of what had once been the most passionate, exasperating, humorous, and ferocious being she had ever known.  
  
The phone rang disturbing Buffy from her reverie. She answered it to find the much-hated voice of Sam Fairman on the other end.  
  
"How's our patient doing?"  
  
" 'Our' patient is still a wind-up robot thanks to you," she answered. "Nothing's changed. He can take care of his basic bodily needs, but he can't communicate."  
  
"Well, like I said before, give him time. I believe something will wake up in there......Um.....Listen. I called to let you know another part of what went on that day. Before we began the ritual....."  
  
Buffy steeled herself, not liking the hesitant note in Sam's voice.  
  
"That.....that chip in his head. It wasn't working anymore. Couldn't tell you for how long, but his behavior was modified by it. I just thought you should know that."  
  
"What good is this? Why are you telling me now? I know Spike had changed. I don't need you to tell me that. He was as good as a .........demon.........could be."  
  
"Exactly! Which is why I was able to do the ritual at all. He had changed on a fundamental level and was willing to accept his mortality again. That's why I tried to blend the demon and human aspects into one. I still think his memories, ALL of them, will come back with time. Please don't give up hope, Ms. Summers."  
  
Buffy looked at the blond and brown heads bent over a child's picture book and sighed, "I'll try, Mr. Fairman."  
  
She hung up the phone and went to stand behind the couch, resting a hand on each of their shoulders. Dawn looked up and smiled. Buffy smiled back. Spike ignored her touch and continued to look at the photo of a black and white rabbit. She stroked his hair and kissed the back of his neck before heading into the kitchen to round up juice boxes and cookies.  
  
Lying in bed alone that night, Buffy stifled her sobs of rage and loss and just let the tears slip silently down to wet the pillow. She pictured Spike's sparkling eyes and annoying smirk as he baited her unmercifully, and mourned the absence of that deep, sexy voice always throwing truth up in her face even when she didn't want to hear it. She ached for a good physical fight against him and the hard, violent sex to which the sparring was a prelude.  
  
She hadn't made sexual overtures to this stranger in her house. It seemed too much like taking advantage of a child. Though his beautiful body was the same, without the wit and fire that was Spike, she couldn't bring herself to touch him in what seemed inappropriate ways.  
  
Near dawn Buffy finally drifted off into a restless sleep filled with dreams of half formed creatures clawing at her and trying to pull her into a demon dimension. As she kicked and fought, she saw Spike's black-clad figure standing across the cemetery silently watching while she called to him for help.  
  
*****************  
  
Days followed with tiny improvements in their man-sized child. Dawn taught him to heat water in the microwave. Buffy showed him what crab grass was and set him to work in the garden every evening. At the Magic Box, where Spike spent his days, Anya had him dusting shelves and sweeping the floor. Tara, with Willow's research assistance, came up with a memory enhancing charm for Spike to wear around his neck.  
  
When Xander took him to buy new clothes, he did exhibit a preference for black T's over Hawaiian print shirts. And when Clem came by for a visit, Buffy was sure she caught a fleeting look of recognition on Spike's face.  
  
One day Dawn called Buffy at work to tell her the exciting news that Spike had gone straight to his hidden stash of cigarettes when they arrived home that afternoon, also located his lighter, and was now contentedly smoking like a chimney. 'He would remember THAT nasty habit.' Buffy thought.  
  
But the first real breakthrough came two nights later, when the Slayer arrived home after a long hard day of teaching the self-discipline of exercise to middle aged ladies, and molding the wiggling little bodies of pre-schoolers into kick-boxing machines. Her classes had run late into the evening this particular day and the other Scoobies had taken up the slack in patrolling.  
  
Dawn was camped out on the living room couch, her schoolbooks scattered around her, pen poised over a research paper, as she watched television.  
  
"Where's Spike?" Buffy asked immediately.  
  
"I left him in the laundry room sorting whites and colors," Dawn said, not looking up from her movie.  
  
"You what!"  
  
"Come on, Buffy. He's capable. Give him a little credit. He's not going to eat detergent or anything."  
  
"How long ago?" Without waiting for an answer, she moved quickly toward the half-closed laundry door. Through it she could see piles of laundry, lights and darks, and one of Spike's jean clad legs. She pushed the door open gently so as not to startle him and froze. He was clutching a pair of Buffy's light blue panties to his face, inhaling her female fragrance, and, for the first time since his transformation, an expression lit up his features. Eyes closed, lips smiling, he was enraptured. Buffy's gasping intake of breath broke the spell and his eyes flickered open. This time when they fell on her there was instant recognition….and extreme lust.  
  
"I'll be damned," she murmured and held out her hand to her lover.  
  
He reached out and grasped the offered hand, then opened his mouth to let out a rasping croak, "Buffy." She pulled him up and he enfolded her in his arms, burying his face in her hair and repeating her name quietly as if it was a revelation. Her eyes welled with tears of relief and she hugged him ferociously, forgetting her strength.  
  
He squirmed slightly within her grasp and she loosened it, pulling away enough to tilt her face up toward his and ask, "And do you know who you are?" A flicker of confusion slipped across his face then he stopped any further questions with his lips. She felt their firm softness, no longer cool, press against hers (Spike – not Spike) and his hot, hot tongue begin to probe her mouth. Obviously what his mind might have forgotten his body remembered. His touch was achingly familiar yet subtly different.  
  
It was the heat….oh the heat….he generated now. Pressing her up against the dryer and dominating her body with his, she was overcome by the delicious waves of heat. And the breath! Ragged and hungry. His chest rose and fell with sharply taken breaths, as a groan of desire erupted from his throat. Every inch of them was pressed together and Buffy felt the miracle of his heart throbbing against hers, pounding furiously and raising her own excitement. Their lips continued to blend, tongues thrusting and searching in a familiar dance. This was still totally Spike. No one else kissed her like he did – only hot instead of cool. How strange and wonderful!  
  
Buffy relaxed and let his hands do enchanting things beneath her clothes, stroking, kneading, petting every part of her he could reach. He began to tug on her pants, trying to loosen the fastening, and Buffy knew it was time to change location. She pulled away and he let out a complaining moan.  
  
"No. Not here," she shushed him. "Come with me." She led him toward the stairs, calling out to Dawn as she passed, "Goodnight. I'm putting Spike to bed now."  
  
"Uh-huh," Dawn was engrossed in the climax of the movie, and Buffy smiled as the giddy thought occurred that she'd be having a climax of her own very soon now.  
  
Barely in the door, Buffy kicked it shut, and the lovers' clothes were shed like water. Spike worked his way from her mouth to her throat, then down to her breasts as he sank to his knees in front of her. She ran her hands through his soft hair, touseling it into blond tipped peaks, as he worked at her twin peaks with an eager tongue and nipping teeth. It felt so good and right after the long abstinence – only a handful of weeks, but it seemed so much longer.  
  
Licking down over her belly toward her mound, he paused and almost reverently parted her to reveal the bud of her desire, then placed a cherishing kiss on it. Shocks of electricity flowed up through Buffy's body, and she let out a gasping, "Oh." It was as if she had never been touched there before. Everything seemed shiny new.  
  
She let him work her with fervent lips and lapping tongue until her shaking legs couldn't support her own weight, then tugged at his head. "The bed!" she murmured. "Now."  
  
He looked up and smiled to see her flushed and needy face. Standing, he swooped her from her feet and deposited her on the bed, climbing astride in one swift move. Supporting himself on strong, ropy arms, Spike was suspended above the girl watching her fluttering eyelids and half-open, panting lips. "Hurry. I can't wait…." She breathed, reaching behind to grab his ass and pull him toward her aching chasm.  
  
"No."  
  
Her eyes flew open and she saw that he was coyly smiling. He pursed his lips and shook his head, the old teasing Spike.  
  
"What do you mean 'no'?" She cuffed him playfully on the shoulder, then reached down to feel his hard, vibrating cock. "You're ready, too. I can feel it," she whispered seductively.  
  
He groaned and shifted at her touch, but shook his head again. "Not yet."  
  
'It's a miracle. Spike's talking.' She thought absently, but the bulk of her attention was on the wonderful, teasing things he was doing with his hands, mouth, and penis. 'It's a miracle. Spike's fucking.' was what her body declared.  
  
Later, after mountains of desire had been scaled and conquered, crests of climaxes had been overcome and claimed, Buffy regained her senses enough to question her lover. His head rested on her breast, rivers of sweat melded them together, and both were panting for oxygen. "Spike?" she queried, running a lazy hand down his back.  
  
"Hm?" he sounded half asleep.  
  
"Do you know me?"  
  
She could feel his mouth smiling against her skin. "Buffy."  
  
"That's right," she hesitated. "And do you know who you are?"  
  
"Spike?"  
  
"Who IS Spike?" she asked.  
  
"Me." He said, playing the game, kissing her breast and blowing a puff of air across it to cool the damp flesh.  
  
"What do you remember?" she gently pried.  
  
There was a long silence and she held her breath waiting for the answer.  
  
"You."  
  
She hugged him tight, struggling to swallow the lump in her throat. It was better than nothing, she decided.  
  
*****************  
  
Dawn shuffled into the kitchen the next morning, half asleep, and headed to the cupboard for a bowl.  
  
"Hey, Bit," a familiar voice purred. She whirled around to see Spike intently studying the picture of Toucan Sam on the box in his hand, and spooning up cereal with the other.  
  
"You can talk!" she squeaked, as amazed as if a family pet had suddenly acquired the power of speech. "You know who I am!" She paused. "DO you know who I am?"  
  
"Dawn," he said, succinctly.  
  
"That's right! And do you know who you are? Do you remember everything now? When did this happen?" She bombarded him with questions.  
  
"Last night. No. Maybe." He replied in reverse order, tipping his bowl to get the last of the milk on his spoon.  
  
"Huh…what? 'Maybe' you know who you are? What does…."  
  
"He's still confused, Dawnie. Don't ask too many questions just now, okay?" Buffy entered the kitchen, combing out her shower-damp hair. Spike's gaze was magnetically drawn from his study of Toucan Sam to the beautiful blond who was the center of his world. That much he remembered.  
  
He rose and went to her, enveloping her in a bear hug and passionate fruit- loopy kiss.  
  
"Oh, here we go," Dawn sighed. "Some things never change. Can you take that to the bedroom, please!" She chuckled inwardly as she filled her own bowl of cereal, poured on the milk, and sat down to regard the tropical bird which urged her to buy more of his product.  
  
"So how are you feeling this morning?" Buffy asked.  
  
"Good." He moved her hair aside and began nibbling her neck. "Hungry."  
  
"Have you remembered anything else....about yourself?"  
  
"Oh, so YOU can ask..." Dawn mumbled as she crunched down her cereal.  
  
"Mmm. Fishing. My father took me once. We didn't catch anything, but it was .....a great day."  
  
"How old were you?" Dawn looked up with interest.  
  
"Little. I tried to pull the hook out myself and stabbed my finger. I cried and he wrapped it in his handkerchief, but it bled right through. Then he said, 'It'll get better soon.' and he gave me a biscuit. We didn't catch any more fish."  
  
"My dad took me fishing once, too," the teenager recalled wistfully. "I caught a sunfish."  
  
"What else, Spike," Buffy quietly prodded.  
  
"A woman. With dark hair. She was beautiful. I remember taking care of her. That was my job, to take care of.....I don't remember her name. But it went on for a long time. I brought her things to eat......people, I guess, and made sure no harm ever came to her. We played together. We did lots of things. Then something happened and she was gone. I don't remember what happened......" He broke off, a perplexed frown knitting his brows. "It hurt when she was gone."  
  
"I know that feeling," Buffy empathized, thinking of the day after Angel had left Sunnydale and the horrible cramping in her chest every time she drew a breath. Love and pain were two sides to the same coin.  
  
"What about now?" Dawn asked. "What do you remember about Buffy and me?"  
  
"You need help with math a lot and she.....kills things."  
  
Buffy gasped. "That's it! You look at me and THAT'S what you come up with?!"  
  
"You fuck really well, too," Spike added, helpfully.  
  
She didn't know whether to laugh or cry.  
  
"I hardly ever need help with math any more!" Dawn exploded. "How can you say that?"  
  
Spike looked from one to the other of the sisters and knew he had somehow blundered.  
  
"I don't know what you want me to say? You asked what I remember, and that's what I thought of. But it's not ALL I know about you."  
  
"You," he gestured to Dawn. "are tired of her treating you like you're young. You want to grow up and to know what's going on around you. Your friend, Michelle, wrote a nasty note about you to another friend which you found out about and now you're mad at her. You really want a kitten but you're allergic."  
  
"That's right," the girl smiled. "You remember me."  
  
"And you...." he turned to Buffy.  
  
"This had better be the PG rated version," she said.  
  
"You hurt all the time. People hurt you, and you're afraid to lose any more of them. I want to make you feel better, but I don't know how except with sex. So, is it helping at all?"  
  
She laughed. "You're doing fine Dr. Feelgood. What else do you think you know about me?"  
  
"You help people and most of the time they don't even know. You're like a shining light in this world and no one can see it," he stroked her hair back from her face then let his hand trail down her jaw, caressing her mouth with his thumb. "All I can do is try to protect you, keep you alive so you can keep doing your work. That's who I am – the one who helps Buffy." His solemn face twisted into a cocky grin, "And supplies good sex."  
  
"You know me – except maybe the shining light thing," Buffy confirmed, "but you don't begin to know all that YOU are."  
  
"Okay," Dawn interrupted, "before I go into sugar shock, I'm taking off for school. Don't forget I'm going to Brian's soccer game after, Buffy. You have to pick Spike up today." And with that, the teenager grabbed her backpack and headed out the door.  
  
Spike protested being dropped off at the Magic Box that morning. "I don't need bloody day care!" he complained, but caved at Buffy's insistence.  
  
"Anya will talk to you and fill you in on things you've forgotten. She knows what it's like to be clueless in the human world."  
  
It turned out to be a productive day for Spike's memory recovery as well as profitable for Anya's cash flow. Between customers, the ex-vengeance demon quizzed him on facts about himself, their group of friends, and the world in general.  
  
He remembered his human family, but not their names. He remembered finding the Gem of Amara, but, unsurprisingly, had completely forgotten Harmony. He remembered tearing through a cruise ship full of passengers with Angelus on vacation one time, but couldn't explain what his relationship was to the vampire. He remembered that Xander owed him $40.00 from a bet they'd made. He remembered that Dawn hated pineapple juice, that red was his favorite color, that Willow and Tara were in love, that men had walked on the moon. He had forgotten the name of his beloved dark beauty, Drusilla, but remembered her doll, Miss Edith.  
  
There seemed to be no pattern to the bits and pieces of memory that Spike was able to retrieve. Anya enjoyed filling in the blanks with her own version of life in the world.  
  
"So remember, when humans tell you 'I don't want to talk about it,' they really mean 'It's none of your business but keep prying anyway because I have a desperate need to share my problem with you and get your guidance, and if I yell, just ignore me, because it's really a cry for help.'" Anya explained this fact as she totalled the day's receipts. "And remember, no matter what Buffy may SAY, no woman likes a layabout boyfriend. You have to get yourself some marketable skills as soon as possible and get out there and earn some money."  
  
"What about sex?" Spike asked.  
  
"Oh....what?.....Well I suppose you could. I guess it's a lucrative profession, but......"  
  
"No. General question. How do you know if things are as good as you think they are? I pretty much remember sex and that I was good at it....or I assumed I was, but how can I be sure that Buffy's really satisfied?"  
  
"Well, I'm glad you asked me that. I can tell you about what women like and what they really mean when they say, 'You were great.' For one thing, if they have to say it, you probably weren't. For example...."  
  
Buffy entered the store just then, cutting Anya's sex lecture short.  
  
"Hi. Sorry to leave Spike here so late. I forgot Dawn was going to the soccer game after school. New boyfriend prospect," she explained.  
  
"No problem. He's a big help around the store, and now that he can communicate again he's even more useful. Very good at getting the female shoppers to buy more than they intended."  
  
Spike scowled as they discussed him as if he were mentally deficient.  
  
"Anyway," Buffy added, kissing his full pouting lip and wrapping an arm around his waist. "I absolutely have to go patrol later. I've been totally lax recently. Dawn won't be home 'til really late. So, do you think you and Xander could have Spike over after dinner? I could drop him by...."  
  
"No. No. No. We've got plans....."  
  
"I can come with you, Buffy. I remember how to fight....."  
  
"Please, Anya."  
  
"Really, Buffy, any night but this. We've been planning...."  
  
"I said I can help you," Spike interjected, as the two women continued to argue as if he had no voice.  
  
"Well, I suppose he can stay home alone now that he's getting better," she mused.  
  
"Are you deaf, woman? I'm coming with you. I'm not an invalid!"  
  
"Sweetheart, you're also not a vampire any more. You don't have any special strength, and I don't want to have to worry about you while I'm trying to fight."  
  
Spike's lips tightened into a straight line and his arms dropped away from Buffy's body. "So you want me to stay home and, what, keep your dinner warm while you go out and slay things?"  
  
"Well, no. I'll have dinner before I go," Buffy deliberately missed the point. "You can keep the bed warm, though," she teased.  
  
Spike's face was thunderous with rage, a definite improvement over the blank canvas he had exhibited for the past month. "I guess you're letting me know what I am. Thanks for making it clear." He stalked past both women and cast open the door of the shop hard enough to shake the glass.  
  
"Oh, Buffy. You know how frail men's egos are! That was a big mistake," Anya admonished. "Now, see, when Xander wants to think he's in charge I have this little trick where I......"  
  
"Thanks, An." Buffy hastily exited, running to catch up with Spike.  
  
Later, as they ate a silent, uncomfortable meal, she thought about how she had managed to alienate him less than a day after having him 'back'. The silent, obedient Spike was certainly easier to manage than the prickly, tight-jawed man sitting across from her, jabbing his food viciously with a fork.  
  
She swallowed her pride and made an attempt, "Spike, it's not that I don't want you with me when I go on patrol, it's just that......"  
  
"Never mind. It's fine," he snapped. "I'll stay wherever you need me." He stabbed his pork chop with a knife.  
  
Buffy sighed, shook her head, and gave up. They completed the dinner in silence, then she dressed to go demon hunting, gave her boyfriend a goodbye peck, and slipped off into the night.  
  
Walking in the cemetery, Buffy absently tossed and caught her favorite stake while thinking about how to deal with Spike's need to feel needed. How could she help him to feel useful and productive while still keeping him out of harm's way? Good God, he was like an older, more testosterone- charged version of Dawn!  
  
Suddenly the distracted Slayer was spun around by a vicious blow to the head. A second blow drove her to her knees, and she looked up through a red haze to see a burly vamp, fresh from the grave, hefting a slab of granite headstone. 'Felled by a Neanderthal bloodsucker? Not likely,' Buffy thought, reaching for her dropped stake and coming up into the vampire's chest with it in both hands. The force propelled him into the air, where he burst into a dusty cloud that rained down on her head, filling her eyes.  
  
As Buffy blinked to clear her vision, several more vamps moved in from all sides. "What is this? A convention? You missed the shuttle to the hotel," she quipped, lamely trying to buy time as she continued to wipe at her blurry eyes. As if on command, the enemies all attacked at once. Buffy whirled, stabbed, spun, sliced, kicked, and parried.  
  
She felt her arm seized and drawn up behind her until it popped from the socket. Letting out a shriek of agony and rage, Buffy viciously kicked out behind her to dislodge the vamp. She succeeded in knocking him away, but now her left arm was useless and the rest of the attackers kept on coming. This was looking very, very bad.  
  
Suddenly a familiar roaring battle cry reverberated through the cemetery, and Buffy caught a swirl of black from the corner of her bleary eye. Spike had entered the fray and was tossing vamps right and left in a mad rush to get to her. He drove his stake home again and again, while burning every vamp he touched with the large silver crucifix clutched in his other fist.  
  
Buffy paused in mid-punch to watch and took a sharp blow to the side of the head for it. She was momentarily transfixed by the glorious sight of Spike, spinning, kicking, and snarling, as he worked his way toward her. At this point in a fight he would usually be all golden-eyes and flashing fangs. It was thrilling to see his human face contorted in fury, and Buffy was shocked to find herself, in the middle of everything, intensely aroused.  
  
She turned her attention back to the business at hand with a hard elbow to the jaw of the assailant closing in behind her, and a crotch kick to the one in front of her. While he was clutching himself, she quickly staked him. Then abruptly it was over, the fine dust of about a dozen vampires floating in the air around them.  
  
Spike was bent over, hands resting on knees, gasping for breath. He looked up at her from under his dark brows and gave her a crooked grin. "Buffy's lapdog still bites," he teased. "Don't you think I've earned a treat?"  
  
"Definitely," she admitted with a come hither smile, then groaned as she moved her arm and pain shot through it.  
  
"You okay, luv?"  
  
"Just dislocated my shoulder, I think," Buffy tried to rotate it and bit back a yelp as another wave of pain coursed through her.  
  
"Let me..." Spike stepped forward, supported her back with his body and rammed the arm back into the socket with a sickening pop. Buffy screamed in agony.  
  
"Better?" he asked, gently massaging the damaged area.  
  
"Mm. It hurts like hell," she complained.  
  
"Well then, we better take you home, ice it, and kiss it better." He put his arm around her waist and they began to walk slowly toward home.  
  
"Hey," Buffy interrupted the companionable silence. "I thought you were going to stay put tonight. You promised."  
  
"No I didn't. I said I'd stay wherever you need me, and I'd say you needed my help here tonight. It's irrelevant now anyway, since I proved to you I can still fight."  
  
Buffy stole a glance at his proud and confident expression and was glad he never listened to her. She wrapped her good arm around his and laced their fingers together – palm to palm and pulse to pulse.  
  
"I'm glad you came, and I'm glad you're back from wherever your brain checked out to," she confided softly. "Now, about that reward.....what can I do for you?"  
  
Spike seemed to be considering it with great gravity. When he finally answered, his tone was serious. "The beach. I want to spend a day at the beach with you....in the sun."  
  
Buffy's throat constricted and tears choked her even as she smiled. "It's a date," she whispered through trembling lips.  
  
Epilogue  
  
Late afternoon on a California summer day, a beach full of tanning bodies, screaming gulls, and kids with sand pails; gentle waves washing seaweed ashore; four friends enjoying the day....  
  
Buffy shook her hair, spraying water droplets over Spike's nicely toasting skin.  
  
"Hey, watch it! That's cold," he grumbled, rolling over from stomach to back to look up at her.  
  
"Oh my god, it's sizzling! You are going to be so burned. You'd better put a shirt on," she mothered, and dropped down on the blanket beside him.  
  
"Tell you what, instead of a shirt why don't you rub some more of this nice lotion on me." He tossed her the sunscreen.  
  
"Everywhere?" she grinned.  
  
"Every spot your little hands can reach," he purred.  
  
"God, will you two never stop with the sexual banter? It's wretch- inducing," Xander complained from his beach chair nearby. He and Anya had matching striped chairs, sunglasses, and large straw hats. They sipped from the twin plastic coconut glasses Anya insisted on using whenever they came to the beach.  
  
"Sod off, whelp. Tend to your girl there." He tossed a second bottle of sunscreen at Xander, hitting him in the head.  
  
"Hey! Keep your boyfriend under control, Buff." He rubbed his forehead. "That's gonna leave a mark."  
  
"Honey, you heard what the man said, 'Tend me,'" Anya interrupted, tapping Xander's arm with a long fingernail.  
  
Buffy turned her attention to coating Spike's pale skin with another layer of SPF150, enjoying the feel of his muscles smoothly slipping under her hands.  
  
"So, how do you like the beach?" she asked.  
  
"Very sandy and sticky, isn't it? And hot." he replied.  
  
"That's why you have to go in the water now and then, to cool down."  
  
"Too cold."  
  
Buffy smiled at his fussing, remembering how recently neither cold nor heat had affected him in any way. It was the little indignities of humanity that set him complaining about fifty times a day. She finished stroking his fish pale skin with lotion and stretched out beside him on the blanket, basking in the fiery warmth. Soon all four of the sun-bathers had drifted off to sleep.  
  
Buffy woke in the red glow of sunset, and looked around to see what the others were doing. Xander and Anya were still asleep in their twin chairs with their twin sunglasses lying askew on their faces, their matching coconut cups having slipped from their hands to the sand below. Spike was sitting up, arms around his knees, watching the sun with deep intensity.  
  
She touched his arm lightly and he started. "Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you. Beautiful, isn't it." She sat up next to him to keep watch.  
  
He nodded.  
  
The sat silently as the orange orb slipped further down the horizon.  
  
"It hurts, doesn't it?" he asked.  
  
"The sun?"  
  
"Sunset. It used to just make me hungry. I remember that. Now it feels…."  
  
"Wistful? Melancholy?" Buffy supplied.  
  
"Lonely. Even with you right here. It kind of aches."  
  
"Yeah. A good sunset will do that to you. Another day over. Time slipping by..…."  
  
They sat thinking about it, brooding like a pair of Angels. Then Buffy brightened, "BUT a sunrise, now that will make you feel energized and ready to do it all over again. Anything can happen in a new day."  
  
Spike reached over and took her hand, stroking the palm with his thumb. He lifted it to his lips and kissed it, then enfolded her small hand in both of his own. "Well then, let's pack up our friends, drive somewhere, and wait for the sunrise."  
  
  
  
END 


	3. William's Return

Title: GOOD ENOUGH FOR BUFFY - "William's Return" (2/2) Author: Bonnie Email: bondav40@yahoo.com Rating: R (for brief sex scene) Summary: Second ending to "Good Enough for Buffy" What's a humanized Spike like? Check out previously posted alternate ending. Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss and UPN.  
  
William gazed around the unfamiliar room in confusion. Hospital? No. But he felt so feverish and disoriented that he must be suffering or just recovering from pneumonia. Every breath he drew burned his lungs like a brand and there was a high-pitched ringing in his ears.  
  
"Spike? Can you hear me? It's Buffy."  
  
His eyes slid back to the young lady with cropped, blond hair, who hovered above him. Nurse? No. She wasn't dressed appropriately. As a matter of fact she was clothed most inappropriately in a little camisole and boy's pants. William was aghast at her attire and wondered what kind of place he had woken up in and how. Searching his memory, he DID recall drinking too much after Cecily's cruel rejection. He had left the party in humiliation, realized he couldn't face an evening at home with mother, and stopped at a pub for a drink or two, or four.... That was the last he remembered.  
  
He must have been waylaid in the alley then taken to this....brothel? No. It was a parlor floor and not a bed on which he rested. What a strange parlor, indeed! The furniture, the prints on the walls, the light fixtures, and that odd, square, mechanical contraption in the corner, all contributed to a feeling of otherworldliness. Nothing looked or felt quite right. And why was this strange girl fondling his hand and touching his face. William felt his pulse begin to quicken in fear. Something was definitely wrong and panic was not far away.  
  
A dark, foreign-looking man appeared over the girl's shoulder. He said something to her about "Spike" and "ritual" and "memory loss," and the girl began to yell at him angrily.  
  
"Ex....excuse me," William interrupted in a rasping voice. "Water....please...."  
  
"Spike!" The girl began chattering at him again, and he closed his eyes to ward off the force of her exuberance. It was all too much.....too much. His mind drifted away again.  
  
Moments later he was awakened by the lifting of his head and a glass of water being pressed to his lips. He drank gratefully then slipped back into blessed sleep, praying he would wake and find it all a nightmare.  
  
A stream of sunshine warming his hand jerked William from a deep sleep. He pulled back from the patch of sun with a cry, fearing he'd be burned, then wondered where that odd thought had come from. He sat up, fighting back nausea, and rubbed his eyes. Looking around the strange room left him as nonplussed as the night before. Not only was he completely lost as to where he was, but nothing about this room looked "normal." The wallpaper, the bindings on the books, the oddly glossy magazines, and, again, that damn mechanical box in the corner, which now inexplicably had some images moving across it; none of these things seemed right.  
  
The blond girl lay on a sofa nearby, covered with a brightly colored blanket made of some odd kind of material. Her arm was crooked under her head. Her lips were slightly parted, and he could hear her breath whistling in and out from his seat on the floor. William cocked his head to one side and considered her. She was a pretty little thing, but very loud when she was awake he decided. Definitely unladylike.  
  
Just then the foreign looking gentleman entered the room carrying a steaming mug of coffee. He started slightly to see his guest awake.  
  
"Well, good morning! How does your head feel?" the man asked jovially in an American accent.  
  
"Feeling rather nasty actually," he replied, rubbing his temple, which throbbed painfully.  
  
"Here," the American handed him the hot cup. "Hope you like it black. It'll fix you right up. I'll just get myself another."  
  
Accepting the drink, which he heartily wished was tea, the young man thanked his host. The girl on the sofa began to stir and woke with a mighty yawn, then, as if suddenly remembering where she was, sat bolt upright, her wide hazel eyes flying open.  
  
"Spike!" she gasped upon seeing William, then launched herself off the couch and onto him, almost spilling the coffee in his hand. Their host quickly retrieved the cup and stepped back, while the frightening girl covered William with kisses and embraced him so hard he feared she would snap his spine.  
  
He pushed her away with both hands, horrified at the display yet, unfortunately, aroused at the same time. The binding clothes he found himself in were cutting most uncomfortably into his genitals. For the first time, William examined his own apparel, shamelessly tight black pants and shirt, and wondered again what had happened and how he had gotten to this place, in these clothes, with this young woman straddling him.  
  
"Spike?" The girl was whimpering now, her forehead creased in concern. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Young lady, I don't know who you think I am, but....." he allowed the thought to trail off, hoping she would take the hint and remove herself from his lap.  
  
"Amnesia," their host muttered, setting the coffee mug on a table and crouching down beside them. "Do you know your name?"  
  
"Yes. It's William." The blond girl gasped. "Could you please tell me where I am and what has happened? I must be getting home quickly. Mother will be very worried."  
  
"Whoo boy," The dark skinned man ran a hand through his hair and pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I was kinda afraid of this."  
  
"What?! What is going on? Explain this!" the young lady hissed. "You mean to tell me he only has William's memories now? Who do you think you are playing God! You had no right to mess with him like this. Now look what you've done!"  
  
Her tirade would have gone on, but William interrupted. "I'm sorry, miss. I don't know what has upset you or who you think I am, but I need to have some answers to my questions....right now!"  
  
"All right. Everybody calm down now." The man raised both hands placatingly. "William, you're not going to believe all that we have to tell you, so I'm going to ask you to hear the story out 'til the end, even if it seems illogical or downright crazy. As for you Miss Summers, you can tear me a new one later on. Right now it's important we set this fella's mind at ease and tell him what's going on."  
  
The girl nodded and shot the man a glare. "Let me tell it then."  
  
"First let's get William settled someplace a little more comfortable, and maybe add a drop of brandy to that coffee. Why don't you sit in this chair," the older man gestured to a worn armchair as he went to a sideboard to pull out a liquor bottle. Feeling helpless and overwhelmed, William did as he was bid, sitting and drinking deeply of the beverage which went straight to his head, while the girl settled at his feet and began her story.  
  
"My name is Buffy Summers. This is Sam Fairman. He's a Native American shaman. And you are no longer in the year 1880, let alone in England. We're in Arizona, in the United States....." The girl's story unraveled from that point on, becoming more rambling and outlandish by the second. William thought it a pity that such a pretty woman was cursed with insanity, and that her fevered imaginings were encouraged by her keeper. He looked up at the other man with a frown of disapproval. But Mr. Fairman only nodded in agreement with the strange tale.  
  
Miss Summers went on and on, gesturing with her hands, emotions flying across her open face. It was obvious she believed in what she said with every fiber of her being. And it was obvious she was fervently devoted to the vampire character "Spike" which she had somehow identified with William. The poor, poor child. Maybe the new, modern treatment of electric shock therapy could shake the girl from her delusion.  
  
William felt Sam Fairman's dark eyes upon him, piercing through his nodding and smiling facade. The would-be shaman suddenly interrupted the young woman's barrage of words.  
  
"Take a look around you, William. Does anything seem familiar? Does any of it look right? Look out my window. Does it look like England? How do you think you suddenly arrived in the middle of the desert? Look at our clothes. Are they like any you've ever seen before? Come and see the appliances in my kitchen.....or that TV over there...." He picked up a little black rectangle and suddenly caused the mechanical device in the corner to blare with sound.  
  
"Double your pleasure. Double your fun." Jangling music played as two young women riding bicycles in their undergarments smiled wide, toothy grins. The picture changed and horrible battlefield scenes in miniature appeared on the box. It shifted again and an orange tabby cat was digging in a box of sand while different jangly music played.  
  
William's empty stomach began to heave and he felt a return of the fluttering panic, which had threatened to overwhelm him the evening before. His sight seemed to be darkening around the edges and a dreadful pounding filled his head.  
  
"Pardon me," he whispered shakily. "Do you have a basin? I believe I'm going to...."  
  
"Wastebasket." Fairman pointed behind the blond and she quickly grabbed the receptacle and got it under William's face as he vomited the contents of his stomach into it. She rubbed his back as he wretched and shot venom from her eyes at the shaman who had caused this mess.  
  
When the heaving subsided, William was shaky and pale, but for the first time ready to really listen to their explanation of the events leading up to finding himself in this strange place and time.  
  
"Tell ya what, William. Let's take a break and get some chow into you. It'll all look better on a full stomach. I can fry up some eggs and bacon, and I got some leftover biscuits. You too, young lady. The talk can wait." Allowing no further discussion, Mr. Fairman grabbed William's arm and helped him to his feet. Buffy supported his weight on the other side, and, although he felt foolish, the young man realized he was too dizzy to walk on his own and accepted their help. They walked him to the kitchen and deposited him on a chair.  
  
As Fairman moved around the kitchen, whipping together a hearty breakfast, and the girl set the table under his instruction, William gazed in wonder at the humming icebox in the corner. It was electrical as were the lights which illuminated the room.....and the device for toasting bread which Miss Summers was operating. He could see a glow from the coils inside it heating up. And that icebox! It let out cold air every time it was opened. William had read an article about electricity and basically understood the concept, but he could never have imagined the miraculous possibilities that would be generated by the invention. The hard, cold fact of the mechanical appliances in the room alone was almost enough to convince him that he was indeed in the future and not in some hallucination. He knew he just wasn't imaginative enough to have dreamed up these things.  
  
"Biscuits or toast?" Miss Summers was asking him.  
  
"Um...."  
  
"Toast it is." She slapped a slice of perfectly browned bread on the plate of steaming eggs and rashers that Mr. Fairman had just placed in front of him. Despite his recent upheaval, his stomach was now rumbling in response to the delicious aroma of the food.  
  
"And orange juice," she added, pouring a tall glass of yellow colored liquid.  
  
His thirst was extreme and he took a tentative taste of the beverage, finding it tart and sweet at the same time. Of course he had often had a Christmas orange, but never a drink squeezed from the fruit. Excellent!  
  
"Dig in there, Will," his host encouraged. William lifted his fork, then quickly set it down and rose as the young lady seated herself across the table from him. She looked up in confusion and he reseated himself, wondering whether she should be treated as a servant or an equal. His well- taught etiquette told him to hold her chair for her, but it seemed that everything about him was antiquated in this time and place. He would need to keep his mouth shut and ears open to fit in to this new society, and, hopefully, it wouldn't be long before he could find a way back to his own world.  
  
With no further ado, no thanking of the Lord, the odd pair across from him began to eat. William noted their appalling table manners as he delicately forked up a bit of egg. Then a ravenous hunger overtook him and he forgot everything his mother had ever taught him and attacked the food.  
  
After the meal, both Mr. Fairman and Miss Summers quickly whisked the dishes from the table and rinsed them in the sink. At the touch of a metal knob, water gushed forth. There was no hand pump to draw the water to the spigot so William assumed the source must be electricity again. An electric pump that supplied water indoors! Amazing!  
  
"So what do you think of our brave new world?" the dark-skinned man asked as he poured three cups of the foul tasting coffee.  
  
"A little overwhelming," William admitted, "and marvelous. Man's ingenuity is boundless. But please, Miss Summers, could you repeat your story? I will endeavor to listen with a more open mind this time, since the proof of my own eyes tells me that at least part of your tale is true."  
  
He didn't understand why the girl's lovely hazel eyes suddenly welled with tears, as she searched his face with intensity. He blushed under her scrutiny and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Obviously she thought there should be more to him......was waiting for some spark of recognition from him that he just couldn't give. Miss Summers sniffled a little then angrily brushed the tears away with her fingertips and launched into the same bizarre tale of vampires and slayers, passion and violence, death and redemption. It was the stuff of penny dreadfuls and William had trouble keeping a straight face during the most fanciful parts.  
  
Finally he had to interrupt. "So you would have me believe that I underwent some kind of metaphysical transformation, became an undead being, walked this earth for over 120 years wreaking havoc, was inspired by love for you, and contacted Mr. Fairman to enact another transformation to bring back my former self? Is that it?"  
  
"Yeah, that about covers it," the young lady nodded, blushing at his sarcastic tone. "Except you were supposed to retain some of Spike's characteristics." She scowled at Fairman, "What happened to the whole 'melding of two beings into one' thing, Miracle Max?"  
  
"I'm sorry! It's not an exact science. I did my best. But, I'm still convinced the demon part of your friend is in there somewhere. Maybe it's hibernating or something," he finished lamely.  
  
"All I know is what I see," she continued angrily. "And THIS," she gestured wildly at William, "is not my boyfriend."  
  
"Pardon me. Not to quibble, but wasn't this MY body to begin with in your scenario? Haven't I a right to be in it? And can you please tell me, assuming all you say is true, how I can be returned to my own time?"  
  
"You can't," Sam said gently. "This isn't a matter of time travel. Your time is long past. History. There's no going back."  
  
"But. But I...."  
  
"Look, William," the young lady said roughly. "I'm none to happy with the outcome of this little experiment either. But here you are, so try to accept it. You've been given another chance at life. Maybe you can be happier here in the 20th century than you were in your own time. It's not like you really have anything to go back to. Spike told me what a lose....um...unhappy person you were."  
  
"I most certainly was not....."  
  
"Oh come on. Rejected by women, future going nowhere, mama's boy.....that's why you leaped at what Dru offered. You had a secret desire for power and sex and.....and chaos."  
  
William paled at her hateful words, which struck a chord of truth somewhere deep inside.  
  
"I don't wish to listen to this! If you'll excuse me, I need some air." He practically leaped from the table and headed for the door, hearing Fairman try to calm the furious girl in the kitchen behind him.  
  
Another curtain of dizziness and blackness began to descend on the vision of the lost young man, but he pushed it back. "I will not faint. I will NOT in front of her." and reached out for the doorknob. He pulled it open and bright morning sun poured into the front hall. William jumped back with a loud cry from the warmth lapping over his feet and legs. Good Christ, it was going to burn him up!  
  
"What is it?" he heard the hateful girl, Buffy, call as she came running.  
  
"Nothing!" he snapped. "I was just....surprised at the....brightness of the day." He stood, staring transfixed at the block of sunlight that lay on the floor in front of him. His booted foot was in shadow and he cautiously moved it into the light.  
  
"What's the matter?" she pressed. "Are you going out? Can you.....?"  
  
He took a deep breath and stepped a little farther into the light. He reached his hand out and experimentally moved it into the sun's rays. Backlit, it glowed red from the blood-flow within. He almost expected it to sizzle like Fairman's frying eggs. Where was this insane notion coming from? He took another step. Then another and another....  
  
Suddenly his whole body was immersed in sunshine. It bathed his face and he squinted, then closed his eyes. Hot! It was so hot! William felt nauseous as waves of heat swept over him, and flashing images played behind his closed lids. He saw Buffy laying beneath him, hair fanned out in a golden halo around her head, eyes slitted, lips half parted in ecstasy, and felt her great heat surrounding him down below. He glimpsed a stranger's face contorted in fear and agony, then felt a searing burst of coppery tasting blood in his mouth. Hellish visions of demons, death and destruction flowed past his gaze, frightening but also strangely exciting William, until he began to lose consciousness.  
  
He felt the girl's firm hand on his arm as she kept him from sagging to the floor. His eyes flickered open and vision cleared, as he regained his balance.  
  
"I'm all right," he assured her, shakily. He pulled away from her viselike grip, thinking she was ridiculously strong for such a little thing, and he was imminently thankful that she couldn't see the image of her that had just passed through his mind. He grasped the door frame for support and walked out onto Sam Fairman's doorstep and into an oven-baked desert morning.  
  
William filled his lungs with the dry, almost choking, air, and, looking around at the scorched yards in front of a row of similar one story houses, decided this was a hellish place to live. A pang of homesickness for the familiar damp, sunless climate of his native land brought unexpected tears to his eyes.  
  
"Are you going to be okay," the girl behind him queried. "I can walk with you."  
  
He shook his head. "No. No thank you. I've seen enough. I think I would like to lie down now." He turned toward the house, avoiding her eyes, and pushed his way back into the blessed dimness of the interior.  
  
************ "You can stay another night," Sam's kind eyes offered support and encouragement, but Buffy declined.  
  
"Thanks. You've been....too helpful already. Maybe taking Spike back to familiar surroundings will waken his memory. If not....." she trailed off, not knowing what she would do with 'William'. "Could I leave his car here? If we don't come back for it in a couple of months, sell it for whatever you can get out of it."  
  
The shaman nodded. "Look, I'm real sorry things didn't turn out the way your friend wanted. I was hoping the demon and the human soul could blend together." He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe, given time, there's still a chance - that is, if any of your friend is left behind in there."  
  
Buffy impaled him with a steely look, then went to wake her new houseguest and inform him that they were going home. Of course, he immediately resisted.  
  
"I'm sorry, young lady, but I'm not going anywhere with you. This gentleman seems to be the one with the magical skills, and I'm counting on him to help me get back where I belong."  
  
"Spike, you don't get it...."  
  
"Please stop calling me that. My name is William."  
  
"All right, 'William' then," she sighed. "There IS no going back. You're time is over. Didn't we explain that to you!"  
  
"Maybe if I could only....go to England. If I could see my home again....."  
  
"And do what? It's just a building, if it's even still standing. Your family is long gone."  
  
William subsided into silence. The girl was harsh but truthful. He must simply find some way to deal with this unbelievable catastrophe and carry on.  
  
"I-I'm sorry," Miss Summers spoke in a gentler tone. "I know none of this is your fault. I shouldn't be such a bitch. I just really miss...." She broke off, tears choking her voice and turned away.  
  
The young man was taken aback by her casual use of the word 'bitch' and blushed slightly, then, decided it wouldn't do to show his shock about every aspect of modern woman. He wasn't sure if this one was an anomaly because of being 'The Slayer', but judging from the images he had seen on the TV apparatus, it was a whole different world for ladies.  
  
Buffy turned back toward him, composed but grim. "Come on. Let's go. It's a long drive back." She led the way outdoors and the two men trailed after her. William took one look at the motorized carriage they were obviously going to be traveling in and felt simultaneously excited and faint.  
  
"You keep in touch." Sam Fairman shook their hands. "You got my number if anything goes really wrong. Meanwhile, I'll keep working on it. I have some friends who might have some insight into the whole demon/human issue."  
  
Buffy nodded and walked around to the driver's side of the car. William stood, staring at the door handle trying to figure out how it worked, fumbled with it for a moment, then opened it and slid onto the cracked vinyl seat. As the girl turned a key and the engine roared into life sending a shudder through the vehicle, he found there was a restraining harness to buckle around the passenger. He quickly ascertained how to click the metal piece into place.  
  
"It takes awhile for the air conditioning to kick in. You might want to open the window," Buffy said. As he hesitated, again examining the door, she added, "That handle right there. It's not automatic."  
  
"Oh, I see," he replied as if he had any idea what she was talking about. Automatic? Air conditioning? Then he rolled down the window to let the stifling air of the desert replace the stifling air of the automobile.  
  
William's stomach leaped as the rusty Datsun began to move forward. The houses of the neighborhood flashed past. Turning a corner, they left the tiny enclave of civilization and were instantly on a highway that stretched forever among rocks, sand, cactus and sagebrush. The blond girl pressed her foot against a pedal on the floor and they sped up to a rushing, stomach-grabbing 50 miles per hour, according to the gauge on the dashboard. Wind whipped through the vehicle and William's eyes stung from the gritty particles in it.  
  
"Sorry to go so slow. Xander's car doesn't go much over 50," Buffy apologized.  
  
"Of course," William tried to sound casual, as his stomach dropped in horror at the unaccustomed speed. He stared out the window as the desert passed by, and gradually his clenched fists relaxed their hold on the car seat, as he realized there was no immediate danger of a crash. Just when he was beginning to think it was rather pleasant, the girl urged him to roll up the window so she could turn on the 'air'. He did as he was bid. A rush of tepid air came rolling from the dashboard, cooling the unbearable interior.  
  
"How does that work?" he asked, fascinated by the possibility of climate control.  
  
"Well, you just turn this knob here to 'air' and, you know, it gets cold - or, at least, cool," the young woman explained vaguely.  
  
William smiled. Trust a female not to understand the workings of a mechanical device.  
  
"What? Wipe that smirk off your face. I'm not a car person, and I could care less how it works!" she protested, reading his thoughts. "If you really wanna know, ask a mechanic."  
  
"I beg your pardon. I didn't say a word," he answered, unsuccessfully trying to suppress his grin. He looked back out the window at the harsh landscape and brilliant blue sky, and thought that this land had its own unearthly beauty.  
  
Miles slipped away. Buffy pressed a button on the dashboard and jarring music filled the air. William frowned. She fiddled with a dial and the music changed to a plaintive woman's voice accompanied by a guitar. "Better?" she asked. He nodded.  
  
The ribbon of highway continued to flow like a river under their wheels. It was hypnotic and William began to doze with his head pressed against the glass.  
  
"Water?" The blond girl's voice jerked him awake. She was poking him in the arm with a cold container. He gratefully took it, examining the label - Crystal Mountain - and the odd, clear material from which the bottle was fashioned. It was clear like glass, but flexible. Ingenious! He twisted the blue lid, removed it, sniffed at the liquid within and took a tentative sip - yes, it was definitely water. The icy fluid soothed his hot, parched throat. He had never tasted anything so cold and pure.  
  
"Thank you." William belatedly remembered his manners. He recapped the bottle and offered it back to the girl.  
  
"No problem." She took it and tossed it on the floor at their feet.  
  
He settled back into position with his head resting on the window, and again drifted off to sleep....  
  
In his dream there was a big man, almost half a head taller than he, with dark brown hair and eyes. Those eyes had a manic gleam as he said, "Let's have a little fun, Spike. We'll make it a vacation they'll never forget." He had tossed an arm around William's shoulders and together they walked onto the promenade deck. They were on a beautiful cruise ship, filled with glamorous couples having a mah-velous time. The year was 1928, money flowed like water, and this floating palace was a playground for the beautiful people - healthy, well-fed people who would make delectable meals.  
  
Angelus knew how to throw a great party. He and his guests, a band of a dozen, had booked some of the most sumptuous suites on the ship. They had spent the first days at sea playing musical rooms - changing sex partners like underwear - and only sampling the humans sporadically so as not to alarm the flock. But tonight was to be the culmination of their orgiastic fantasies. A dress ball was to be held on the deck under the star-dappled sky. The vampires were going to fall like rain on the party-goers, who were held captive by the ocean itself. There was nowhere for them to run.  
  
William salivated in anticipation of the frenzy of bloodlust they were about to partake in. It was a beautiful night at sea and life was good. Then the killing began......  
  
"Damn!!" Buffy's cry awoke him, and he sat up abruptly, a pain shooting down from the crick in his neck. Smoke was pouring from under the hood of the car as it ground to a halt by the side of the road. "Damn! Damn! Damn! I hate cars!" She popped the hood and got out to check the damage. William climbed out of the car as well and stood beside her peering at the engine. They both surveyed the coils, and spark plugs, radiator, and fan belt with blank confusion, realizing they were hopelessly out of their depth.  
  
The sun weighed on their heads like a physical presence. The temperature was well over 100 and there wasn't a leaf's-worth of shade in sight.  
  
"This is not good," Buffy mumbled, looking around in all directions for a sign of civilization. "Why didn't I listen to Willow and get a cell phone?"  
  
"I believe our only alternative is to start walking," William said, thoughtfully. "That vehicle is going to be like an oven soon, and there is certainly no shelter around here. You should have had Mr. Fairman make sure the thing ran correctly before we started out."  
  
Buffy glowered at him and stomped over to the car to retrieve her sweatshirt, which she wound around her head like a turban, and several bottles of water that she tucked into the front of her shirt. "Load up," she snarled. "And let's get walking." Without another word, she stalked down the road that led, unbroken, to the horizon.  
  
William quickly grabbed the remaining two bottles of water and a long, black leather coat he found in the back seat. He debated whether the coat would be more of a help or a hindrance - it's color would absorb heat, but it would shield his pale skin from the sun's rays - and he decided to wear it anyway. He tossed it over his head, like a protective blanket and set off after the girl, who was already almost a quarter mile ahead of him.  
  
It took no more than fifteen minutes of walking for the pair to feel light- headed and dizzy from the extreme heat; only a half hour more to feel nauseated and an additional half hour to reach semi-delirious. Despite Slayer strength and stamina, Buffy was not exempt from the ravages of dehydration. She had planned to ration out the water, not knowing how long they might be out here, but with specks of darkness playing across her vision and a stagger in her step, she knew she must drink in order to be able to keep on walking. She glanced over her shoulder at 'William' who was struggling manfully on. Fuck him and his non-complaining, stiff-upper- lip British attitude. Buffy would have sat down and whined like a baby by now if he hadn't been there to see it. She had to smile at the tented coat, shielding his platinum head, so reminiscent of the times he had come bursting in to the Magic Box protected from instant burning death only by a thin cotton blanket. What an impulsive, danger-seeking maniac Spike had been, and how could he ever be replaced by this stuffy, conservative.....nancyboy.  
  
Just then, almost as though reading her thoughts, William looked up from watching his feet trudge down the road. His piercing blue eyes gazing from under dark brows set Buffy's pulse racing, however, he wasn't looking at her - but past her.  
  
"Is that a...a light up ahead?" he asked, pointing.  
  
She turned around to see a glimmer of light glancing off.....something human-made! Hallelujah!  
  
"It's probably a mirage," she answered, dryly.  
  
"Well, maybe, but it looks rather like a signpost or building to me. Or maybe another automobile."  
  
"Could be." She shrugged, refusing to let him see her hope.  
  
Another mile brought them within sight of a filling station/motel - The Little Oasis, its sign proclaimed. Buffy stopped, waiting for William to catch up, and they both hobbled up to the smeary glass door together. He pulled it open for her to enter first, and Buffy rolled her eyes and passed into the air-conditioned splendor of the convenience store.  
  
"Holy Jeez!" the skinny boy stocking chips by the front counter exclaimed. "What the hell happened to you?"  
  
"Car. Broken." Buffy croaked, heading past him to the refrigerated section where she began pulling out bottles of water. She tossed one to William and drained hers in one long swallow. He dropped his coat on the floor and quickly guzzled his own life-giving drink. 'Almost as good as a long swig of blood on a hot summer night,' he thought idly, then mentally shook himself 'Where did THAT come from?'  
  
Buffy wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Is there a phone? I have some people I've got to call."  
  
"Um. The pay phone's broken. You could use the business phone, but you can't call long distance. The manager'd skin me," the boy said nervously. "And, uh, you have to pay for that water."  
  
"I know," she snapped. "Just give me the friggin' phone." She pulled her wallet from her pocket and slapped a credit card on the counter. "Here. Okay?" She plastered on her most winning smile and gentled her tone. "Look, I'm sorry. It's been a horrendous day.....couple of days actually. I need to call home....and a mechanic. You aren't one by any chance?"  
  
"No ma'am. I just work here. Nearest mechanic would be over in Jonesville, but he probably wouldn't come out. You'll have to call a tow. We got a real nice, clean motel if you need to spend the night," he added helpfully, offering her the grimy phone from behind the counter.  
  
"Well, I'm sure it won't come to that," Buffy continued to smile. Forty minutes and four phone calls later the grim look was plastered on her face again. The tow truck would not be out until late in the evening, the mechanic wouldn't even begin to look at the car until tomorrow, her classes would be taken over by another instructor until she 'felt better', and Willow would happily have Dawn over for the night and tell Xander the status of his poor, broken Datsun. Buffy hadn't even begun to get into the subject of Spike. She told Willow the sketchiest of details about what had happened, promising to fill the story in when she saw everyone in person. Hanging up the phone after this final call, she was surprised to find it was already late afternoon.  
  
"I guess we'll need some rooms after all," Buffy told the clerk.  
  
"Room," he corrected. "There's only one. We just have four units. A couple of semi drivers are in two of 'em, and the third..well, it got kind of trashed by the last people who used it. It's closed for remodeling. So there's really just the one."  
  
"Oh."  
  
William, who had been studying the contents of the store with fascination all this time, came wandering over. "So, will you be able to get the automobile repaired?"  
  
"Um, yes. But not 'til tomorrow. We'll have to spend the night here..and we have to share a room. They only have one."  
  
"Oh." William echoed Buffy's sentiment. "I see. Very well, then."  
  
"Why don't you pick out some juice and snacks, and I'll get microwave burritos for our dinner."  
  
He nodded and began plucking all kinds of things from the shelves, returning to the checkout with arms laden, while Buffy quickly zapped a pair of burritos at the back of the store.  
  
"You plan to eat all that?" she asked dryly when she saw the pile he had amassed.  
  
"Is it too much? I didn't know what to get."  
  
"No. It's fine. Just teasing." Buffy paid for their loot and their room. The clerk handed her a key.  
  
"Room 3. The door sticks a little, but the air conditioning works real fine. Have a nice stay."  
  
The interior of the room, when Buffy was finally able to force the door open, had the typical stale, musty, motel smell, but it was cool as promised. The carpet and drapes were faded and worn, the walls were painted cinderblock, and the twin beds were covered by fire engine red comforters. Paintings of soulful clowns loomed over the headboard of each bed.  
  
"And I thought living on the Hellmouth was frightening," Buffy quipped, looking at the décor. "William, you go ahead and eat your burrito and whatever else you picked up. I'll take first shower." Without waiting for an answer she headed into the bathroom with the toiletries she had purchased.  
  
William began to pick through the bag of food, sampling a little of everything and finding it all extremely salty or sweet. After a few minutes he heard the gushing sound of water from the little room adjacent to this tacky bedroom, and froze with his burrito halfway to his mouth. She was in that room. She was probably..naked in that room, just a few short steps away from where he sat with hot sauce dripping from his fingers onto his lap. She was likely lathering herself with soap about now. The image he'd had of her earlier in the day flashed through his mind again - flowing hair, flushed face gasping in ecstasy, panting breath , heaving breasts.. William gulped and carefully set the burrito down. Suddenly he wasn't at all hungry.  
  
A little square device like the one in Sam Fairman's house, sat in a corner of the room. William went and poked at the buttons until sound blared from it and a grainy picture emerged on the screen. The loud voices of the moving figures drowned out some of the watery sounds from the other room, and he was quickly engrossed in the novelty of the miraculous contraption. A woman was telling about a big war somewhere, then a very jolly man began to talk about the weather. William sat entranced until he heard the bathroom door open behind him.  
  
He glanced over his shoulder and froze, riveted by the sight of the petite girl wrapped in a towel and nothing else, her blond hair shining wetly, sleek as an otter.  
  
"I'm washing my clothes out. They smell. Give me yours, too," she commanded. "I'll do the best I can with them in the sink, and they should dry out by morning."  
  
"I...I.." William was still frozen and speechless. "What..?"  
  
"Come ON. It's no biggie. You can wear a towel." She frowned at his horrified face, then modified her tone as though speaking to a recalcitrant child. "Spi.William, you've got nothing I haven't seen already, you know. I'm as familiar with your body as I am with my own. So will you give me your damn, stinky clothes and take a shower?!"  
  
"We're....lovers?" he finally managed to whisper.  
  
"Well, duh! Why do you think I'm so upset about all of this? I TOLD you we fell in love. Didn't you listen to any of my story? I even said we live together."  
  
"I misunderstood. I thought, perhaps, a boarding house..." he trailed off. "But - but you have no wedding band...not even an engagement ring..."  
  
Buffy smiled at his consternation. "Sex is a little more casual nowadays. Many couples live together without being married. It's accepted."  
  
William was knocked speechless again. She had said S-E-X right there in front of him. He had no response to make to that, so he dumbly stumbled toward the steamy bathroom, and closing the door behind him, leaned against it breathing heavily. It was all just too, too much to take in. The sights, sounds, smells, concepts of this new century were mind boggling. He closed his eyes and begged God to let the nightmare end.  
  
"Do you need me to show you how to use the shower," she called through the door right behind him, making him jump.  
  
"N-no. I can sort it out," he replied, eyes flying open. It was then he caught sight of himself in the mirror. William stared at his unfamiliar reflection. It was him....yet not. For one thing his hair was practically white-blond and cut very short. His own blue eyes peered back at him, but without benefit of glasses, and strangely enough his vision seemed perfect. As a matter of fact, he had never seen so clearly or heard so acutely before. It must be a by-product of having been a.....William couldn't even complete that ridiculous thought.  
  
His clothes, as he had already noted were an unrelieved black. William cautiously peeled of the T-shirt and gazed at his own naked torso. Bodies were not something one generally examined very closely in Victorian England, but he knew his enough to be sure that his stomach had never been this flat, his chest this hard and muscular. He looked amazingly strong and athletic. William had to give the....whatever....that had possessed him credit for building up this healthy body.  
  
Unbidden, the memory of the morning, when Buffy had thrown herself onto his lap and covered him with kisses, sprang to mind. Well, no wonder the girl was attracted to him, he thought smugly. He felt his sexual apparatus begin to stir in the tight pants, and decided he had better start the cleaning process quickly before the girl started banging on the door again.  
  
The shower was easy to figure out and it wasn't long before he was enjoying the perfect temperature and fine, hard spray of electrically pumped water. This had to be one of the best inventions he had encountered so far. The grime of the desert swirled away down the drain, and his muscles felt massaged and pampered. When he finally stepped out, and toweled himself dry, he noted that his clothes were gone and there were puddles of water all around the sink. He hadn't even heard the chit come into the room.  
  
William wrapped the towel around his narrow hips, ran a hand through his damp curls, and steeled himself to face the girl in this embarrassing state of semi-nudity. Obviously he couldn't hide out in here all night, so he might as well get it over with. He opened the door and padded quietly into the room, where their wet clothes were hung randomly, and Buffy sat in the middle of one of the beds, surrounded by snacks and watching the TV. She glanced up at his entry and gave his body a long appreciative look that sent a fire straight to his loins. He stalked past her in shame and quickly pulled the coverlet off the other bed and swathed himself in it.  
  
The young woman smiled at his indignation and held out a brightly colored bag toward him. "Cheese curls?" she asked.  
  
"No thank you. I'm not very hungry," he lied. In truth he was starving, but for something more filling than the fare this inn provided.  
  
"Suit yourself." She licked each of her orange tipped fingers delicately, and William, hypnotized by the sight of her little pink tongue, found his own tongue slowly traveling over his lips. Buffy's eyes met his just then and he quickly snapped his gaze away, concentrating fiercely on the television where a family of hand-drawn yellow people were saying rude things to each other. William stared at them blankly as the girl chuckled over their antics.  
  
"God, Homer kills me!" she commented. A black rectangular object, like the one at Fairman's house, landed on the bed next to the shell-shocked man. "Here's the remote. Knock yourself out. You pick the next one."  
  
William picked up the thing and began pressing numbers as image after image flashed across the screen in front of him - all of it noisy and incomprehensible. A sudden wave of desolation swept over him for his time and his people and a world he could understand. He tossed the remote back to Buffy.  
  
"Please just make it be silent. I'd like to rest now." He curled up on his side facing away from her, head on the lumpy pillow, and gratefully closed his eyes, shutting out this foreign place.  
  
Buffy muted the set, gathered up the food and stuffed it back in the bag, turned off the light, went to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her orange tinted hands, then sat on her lonely bed watching a happy movie about people in love as tears rolled down her cheeks. Every now and then she would cast a glance over at the lump in the next bed and consider whether she dared make an overture toward him. She missed him desperately, and he was right there.....but not. God, just to have him hold her would feel so good - so normal. If he didn't speak she could pretend he was still Spike. Sighing, Buffy turned off the TV and stretched hear weary body under the covers. She was asleep in less than two minutes.  
  
*********** William was dreaming. He was climbing a tall tower. There was something vital he had to do. The wind whipped around him, shaking the tower, but he continued to climb. At the top was a platform and a young girl with long brown hair. She was tied up and crying as a man moved menacingly toward her. This was what William must do. This was the purpose of his existence. He had to save the girl. He began to run toward her with that single goal in mind, then abruptly he was falling through space. Falling, and he didn't even know how it happened. It was so damn fast. All he knew was that he had failed, and because of him, someone he loved was going to die. He woke with a cry of anguish and sat up, gasping for breath.  
  
"Spike! What is it?" Buffy jumped out of bed and tripped over her shoes, landing beside William with a curse. "Are you okay?" She pulled herself up next to him, groping for him in the dark. She held him in her arms as he continued to shake, her hand running comfortingly up and down his smoothly muscled back. "What is it? Do you hurt somewhere?"  
  
He managed to shake his head where it rested on her shoulder, his mouth pressing against her soft flesh. "Just a dream," he muttered. "Nightmare." He clutched her slim body against him with all his might, reveling in her warmth and solidity. She was here, truly here, and safe. That was all that mattered.  
  
Buffy crooned meaningless endearments while she continued to stroke his back, his hair, and kiss his neck. William's healthy young body responded automatically to the presence of this soft, sweet female in his bed. He might not know her, but he knew what to do with her, and, on some level, she did feel very familiar and 'right' in his arms. He pulled away from her slightly so they were face to face. They were both mere shadows in the dark, but he could see her eyes, glittering in the shaft of light that leaked through the blinds, and the contours of her face, barely lit but discernible. Her lips moved and throat contracted as she swallowed nervously. William touched her mouth with the tip of a finger. It was as petal-soft as he had imagined. He replaced finger with lips and their mouths blended as though one.  
  
William the Bloody Awful Poet had read much about romance in his life. The ideal worship of a knight for his fair lady, and the rhapsodic ramblings of poets were all he knew of the dealings between women and men. The reality was quite different. More basic and earthy than his imaginings, the probing tongue and taste of her saliva invaded him and left him shaken to the core. This was a real woman. Her skin beneath his hands covered flesh and bone and was hot with the coursing blood beneath it. Her little sounds of pleasure and contentment were more eloquent than the most poetic phrases he had ever read. And when the cheap motel towel fell away from her breasts and he was able to freely cup one in his hand as he kissed the hollow of her throat, he finally understood that no poet could ever execute the reality of making love on paper. It had to be experienced.  
  
She ran her small hand up his chest and he shivered at the touch. Then she lightly caressed the side of his face and he leaned into her palm, feeling a rush of joy. But when she moved that hand down to his waist, loosening the fabric still wound around him, and when she skimmed it over his hip bone and down toward his crotch.....that's when electric shocks began to shimmer outward from the center of his being. The more contact their bodies had, the more he needed, until it wasn't enough to be wrapped around her, skin to skin - he had to be inside her as well. And very shortly, he was.  
  
Afterward, as they lay spooned together, resting, William kissed the back of her neck and marveled again at the porcelain delicacy of her skin, which masked muscles like iron. She was little, yet so strong and demanding. He hoped his fumbling lovemaking skills had been adequate. If not, he decided as he traced a hand over her shoulder, he would have to get better fast, because there was no way he was going to lose this miracle of a girl. He may have won her heart as a vampire, but he was going to keep it as a man.  
  
William drifted off into a dreamless slumber for the rest of the night. ***********  
  
Buffy woke clasped in Spike's arms and smiled. Another new day to spend together. Get Dawn off to school, make time for a little interlude, then go to work at a job she really enjoyed. And at the end of the day.....more Spike. Always Spike to look forward to, and slaying, of course. She had to admit now that she enjoyed the hunt and kill probably more than was morally right. But she no longer worried about whether that made her a 'bad person', it was her calling after all. The man behind her shifted and breathed and suddenly Buffy was wide awake and aware. This was not her Spike, not her beloved enemy, but another man in his body. And they had made love.  
  
She quickly slipped out of his arms and the bed, grabbed her still-damp clothes and wiggled into them. With a backward glance at his sleeping form, she left the room to go use the phone and make sure their vehicle had been towed to the right place and was being worked on immediately - there was no way she wanted to be stuck in this motel another night. She grabbed a pack of donuts and quart of orange juice and steeled herself to face William again as she entered their room.  
  
Waking at the sound, Will rolled over to face Buffy and bestow a sleepy, angelic smile on her. His hair tufted out at all angles, and he looked so boyish and sweet her heart melted. Again she reminded herself it wasn't his fault he wasn't Spike. She smiled back and held up her bag of breakfast. "More sugary goodness for ya."  
  
Spi-William sat up and patted the bed next to him. Buffy sat down, shyly, her mouth running a mile a minute in between bites of donut. She decided her nerves were shot and she'd probably have some kind of breakdown soon.  
  
"I called the garage, and they have to replace the ......something something. I think it started with a C. It's gonna be a couple hundred bucks, but they should have it done by late afternoon. I certainly hope so. I've got to get home and see about Dawn and get back to work. I called Willow again and told her we'll try to make it back today. Everyone is so anxious to see you. Dawn says 'hello' and she's glad you're all right. Xander says he's never lending me his car again no matter what the emergency. I don't know what we're going to do to pass the day here in the middle of the desert. I'd say we could take a walk, but I think we did enough of that yesterday. Too bad they don't have a pool. Do you think......"  
  
He stopped her with a powdered sugar kiss. Buffy choked on the piece of donut she was swallowing. She pulled away from him and quickly drank some orange juice to help it down.  
  
"Sorry," he said, patting her back ineffectively. He looked so awkward and young, Buffy felt there couldn't be even a trace of her swaggering vamp left in there. She smiled at him kindly, then spoke the hard words she had to say.  
  
"Look.....William......I know we shared a - a moment last night. It was very nice, too. But I don't know you and you don't know me, whatever our bodies might tell us. You, as you are now, are a stranger to me, and I don't sleep with strangers. What we did.... can't happen again. Not now."  
  
"Oh." A flush spread across William's pale face. Of course, he should have known better than to think a beautiful woman like this would want him. It was the story of his life. Even an undead monster could get a woman to fall in love with him, but, oh no, not William.  
  
He rose from the bed and headed toward the bathroom without another word.  
  
*************** The day inched by in strained awkwardness. Buffy couldn't stand to be alone in the room with William so they hung around the convenience store talking to Robbie, the skinny clerk. By noon, Buffy had him sweet-talked into giving them a ride to the garage in Jonesville when his shift ended, and by 5:00 they had paid the mechanic's exorbitant fee and were on their way back to Sunnydale.  
  
Trapped together in the car for several hours, Buffy tried to fill the silence with music. She fiddled with the radio, changing channels until she heard a snatch of one of Spike's favorite tunes. She glanced up to see if there was any recognition in William's face, and found him cringing at the wall of noise pouring from the speakers. She sighed and flicked it off. They drove in silence the rest of the long way home.  
  
For his part, William had a thousand questions he wanted to ask, both about their personal life and the world in general, but he was afraid to breach the wall of silence that had built between them. Consequently, he knew no more about his new life when they pulled up in front of the house on Revello Drive than he had on waking up the morning before at Sam Fairman's. He stepped out of the car with trepidation at the thought of meeting more 21st century strangers who would expect him to be someone he wasn't.  
  
A young girl with long brown hair came bursting out of the house, followed more slowly by a redhead. Dawn. Willow. He mentally matched them to the brief descriptions Buffy had supplied. The young woman's face meant nothing to him, but for one brief second a flutter of recognition stirred at the sight of Dawn's happy smile. 'Sister' -his heart told him. When she threw her arms around him, he returned the hug.  
  
"Hey, Bit," the name slipped naturally from his mouth. Buffy looked up at him sharply.  
  
Dawn pulled back and searched his face. "You know me? Buffy said you had amnesia."  
  
"Something like that," he replied. "I know YOU anyway," he added reassuringly. "You're Dawn."  
  
"That's right," she said. "And you're........?"  
  
"William," he shrugged. "That's who I am. That's what I remember."  
  
Dawn nodded, thinking deeply, then the bright smile lit her face again and she linked her arm through his, drawing him toward the house. "That's enough, then." It was her turn to sound reassuring.  
  
As Buffy trailed after them, she wondered how her little sister had grown so much wiser and accepting than she.  
  
Willow came toward them then and formally stretched out her hand to shake Spike's.  
  
"I'm Willow," she said simply. "Pleased to meet you, William."  
  
'This is just getting more bizarre by the second' Buffy thought. 'Am I the only one disturbed by having a stranger in my boyfriend's body?'  
  
William politely shook hands with the witch, then the little group moved on into the house.  
  
He looked with interest at the dwelling he shared with the two sisters. Dawn led him through all the rooms, looking up now and then to see if any of it touched his memory.  
  
"And this is my room," she tossed open the door to show an unmade bed and a floor ankle deep in dirty laundry. "And this....." she crossed the hall to her mother's old room. "is where you and Buffy sleep."  
  
William felt his skin grow hot as he looked at the wide bed, and unsuccessfully willed himself not to blush as he remembered everything but sleeping that the pair of them had done the previous night. He turned quickly from the room.  
  
"Are you hungry?" Dawn asked, smoothly changing the subject at the sight of his face. "We can go down to the kitchen and I'll make you something."  
  
"Yes, that would be lovely," he answered.  
  
"You sound like Giles," she laughed. "I think he'd like you better as William."  
  
When they reached the kitchen, Buffy and Willow broke off the whispered discussion they were having.  
  
"Call me if you need anything, Buff," Willow said. "I'm supposed to meet Tara for a date, but you can call me on the cell, okay? Oh, and Xander said he and Anya will be by to pick up his car later tonight, but don't wait up for them. Just get some rest, and we'll see you tomorrow." She added to William, "And, um, nice meeting you."  
  
As she moved around the kitchen, heating leftover lasagna and tossing a salad, Dawn prattled on about the Scoobies, her school friends, teachers, the town, demons, movies, and facts from history that occurred to her. Buffy went to wash up, leaving William in Dawn's capable hands.  
  
"So then Janice said, in a real snotty tone, 'That's right I did!' I about died laughing! Oh, did I mention anything about space travel yet? Yeah. There's satellites up there and men have landed on the moon and there's space shuttles going up all the time. Anyway, Ms. Burns said, 'You can just march right on down to the principal's office.' and Janice said, 'Fine'....You want to cut this up, please?" She handed William a tomato and a sharp knife. "And I thought she was going to send me too for laughing, but she only said......The cutting board is under that counter." Dawn interrupted her flow to point William in the right direction. "Oops, almost forgot. Clem stopped by yesterday evening to see you. I told him what was going on. And he says 'hello' and to come see him when you get back if you remember who he is."  
  
Buffy returned just then and they were soon seated at the table, ready to eat.  
  
William was pleasantly surprised at the taste of the Italian food. He'd never eaten anything like it. Soon he and Dawn were happily consuming, while Buffy picked at her plate. Suddenly she put down her fork and practically glared at William.  
  
"How come you remember Dawn?" she demanded.  
  
"I just do. She's Dawn," he shrugged.  
  
"What do you know about her?" Buffy persisted.  
  
"She's the Key. I have to protect her." The words slipped out without William having the slightest idea what they meant.  
  
"Not any more. Glory's long gone. What else do you know?"  
  
"There are still dangers. There's always danger here. I take care of Dawn."  
  
"That's right," Buffy nodded. "You always do. Do you know HOW you take care of her?"  
  
"I - I fight things," William spoke hesitantly, still uncertain where these words and the accompanying images were coming from.  
  
"How can you know all that and not know me!" Buffy exploded. "What all are you remembering?"  
  
"It's not me. These aren't my memories. They aren't my words. I don't KNOW what I'm remembering. It's like watching someone else's dream." William faltered.  
  
"But the memories are in there," Dawn said encouragingly. "That's a good thing, isn't it Buffy."  
  
"Yes," she answered. 'But why doesn't he have memories of ME!' her mind cried.  
  
"It'll all come back to you, Spike," Dawn continued enthusiastically. "When you go out and start slaying things with Buffy, I bet all your past will come flooding back."  
  
"Slaying....?" William sounded doubtful.  
  
"It's what you do! Help Buffy kill things and hang out with us. That's your life." Dawn speared a large forkful of lasagna.  
  
"I see," he said faintly.  
  
Buffy studied his face. "I think William's more of a writer than a fighter, Dawnie. We may have to find him a new line of work."  
  
"No. Not at all. If freeing the world of evil is good enough for a vampire, it's good enough for me. I'm sure I can still aid you in your endeavor," William said briskly.  
  
'Endeavor'? Dawn mouthed at Buffy.  
  
"Just...er....give me a stake and point me in the right direction," he added.  
  
"I'm getting a headache. I think it's time for bed," Buffy muttered, standing up and clearing away her untouched plate. "William, you can sleep in the spare room. Come upstairs when you're finished and I'll show it to you."  
  
Laying in bed that night, William thought about his family and how long ago they had passed from this world. He thought about the time he'd left behind and the new world he had awoken in with all its technological advances and moral ambiguities. And he thought about Buffy, the girl sleeping just down the hall from him - so near he felt he could hear her breathing and the warmth of her skin right through the walls that separated them. He sighed and rolled over, trying to get to sleep, but her presence invaded his consciousness and his desire for her kept him awake far into the night.  
  
When he finally slept he dreamed of a woman with long dark hair and dreamy eyes. She was dancing in the moonlight and beckoning him to join her. As he reached an arm around her waist, her features changed, twisted into a demon visage, and when she opened her mouth to kiss him, sharp fangs protruded between scarlet lips. William woke with a shudder to bright morning light streaming over his bed and another day to face in the 21st century.  
  
"Good morning, Sunshine," Dawn chorused, as he shuffled sleepily into the kitchen. "Buffy's already left for work. She has a Saturday morning aerobics class, but I'm free to show you the town today. We can go over to the Magic Box and hang out with everybody for awhile, then just walk around town and see if anything strikes you as familiar - maybe go to your crypt. That should bring back some fond memories."  
  
"All right," William agreed, sitting down to the table and accepting the cup of tea Dawn offered.  
  
"Also, Buffy's going to call Giles and see if he has any input. You remember Giles? Stuffy British guy, glasses, talks like a book? Nope. I can see you're drawing a blank. Well, that's okay. I'm sure he'd like to forget you, too. Joke!!" she said, seeing the puzzled look on William's face. "Giles is Buffy's Watcher. Did she explain all about being the Slayer and everything? Anyway, he wasn't happy last month when she finally called and told him about you two being together. Vampire plus Slayer equals Bad. So he should be really happy about your, uh, change."  
  
Dawn continued to prattle on as they ate, cleaned up, and dressed to go. Yes, he could hear her still talking to herself across the hall from the bedroom where he found a dresser full of black clothes to wear. Actually, there was a blue shirt in the mix, so he put that on, combed his hair, and went to join the chattering teenager.  
  
"So then Xander walked right out of the wedding. Can you believe it? Anya was devastated. Who wouldn't be! She ran away for awhile. Nobody knew where she went. She still hasn't told us. Then after she came back, she wouldn't speak to Xander or listen to anything he had to say. But he just kept after her in that persistent way he has, and finally he must have said the right thing, cause she forgave him and they got back together. Needless to say, they haven't made any more wedding plans yet."  
  
They walked down the sidewalk companionably, the sun resting warm on their shoulders. William thought it was a nice neighborhood even if every blessed thing in it looked foreign and inconceivable to him. For instance, what was the siding and roofing on all the houses made of? How did that grass-cutting apparatus the boy in the next yard was using work? And what was the metal thing the boy wore over his head like ear muffs? William lost track of what Dawn was saying as he pondered the world around him. She tugged his arm gently to get his attention.  
  
"Geez, Spike, you don't know how weird it is to see you in daylight," she was saying. "That's something I thought I'd never see. What does it feel like? Does it feel strange?"  
  
"No, I... It's just the sun, and it feels like a hot day."  
  
"You really don't remember being a vampire, do you?" she asked sadly.  
  
William hesitated. For some reason, he wanted to be truthful with this girl. She made it easier to talk about things than the volatile Buffy. "I've been having.....dreams. At least I think they're dreams, but they seem almost like memories."  
  
"Tell me," Dawn encouraged.  
  
And he did, leaving out the parts about Buffy in various sexual positions. The violent memories of a vampire were bad enough to be sharing with a young girl. He concluded with the story of the rampage aboard the cruise ship.  
  
"Yep. That's Spike all right," she said. "He was always trying to shake me up with tales of his wild years. He said he didn't want me to forget what he really was. He loved me and Buffy, but he wasn't tame, you know?" She paused, remembering her friend. "And what about you, William? What are you like? Who are you?"  
  
William stopped walking. A bird called out from the tree above them. The drone of the lawn mower drifted through the air. Heat waves shimmered off the sidewalk. He thought long and hard about the girl's question and finally gave her the only answer he could. "I don't know. I don't know anymore."  
  
"Well, that's okay," Dawn reassured. "Heck, it's only your third day as a human again. You'll figure it out with time. Come on. Let's go reintroduce you to the others. I didn't wake you guys up last night when Xander and Anya came for the car, but they are both real anxious to see you."  
  
As a matter of fact, Xander was beside himself about Spike's new humanity. He had made such a business out of hating the blond vamp for so long, that he didn't know how to react to the quiet, sedate William. With no adversary to sling barbs and wisecracks at, Xander was uncharacteristically silent. Anya more than made up for his silence with a running commentary about her own adjustment after losing her demon powers. She expounded on what an enigma human beings were - never saying what they truly meant, and how she had discovered the joys of capitalism and Xander and never regretted losing her past again - except for when he left her at the altar....Then the pair was off and running on who had been most at fault in the wedding fiasco and its aftermath.  
  
Dawn and William slipped out of the Magic Box and headed downtown to shop.  
  
"Hey, Billy, let's get you a new shirt. My treat. I've got a job bagging groceries a couple days a week so I can afford it now. No more shoplifting for Dawn. You pick out something you like, that fits your style. Then we'll go for lunch anywhere you want. And after lunch, we can meet Buffy at the Fitness Center."  
  
"That's very generous of you, Dawn," William thanked her politely. "Anything but black would do nicely." He grinned and she returned the smile, grabbing his arm and pulling him along to the department store.  
  
William's inclination would have been to head straight for the suits, but Dawn guided him to sportswear and then to the racks of discounted shirts that were in her price range. He flipped through the garishly colored clothes and came up with light gray, dark gray, and white shirts to try on. Dawn rolled her eyes and shook her head at his monochromatic choices - some things never changed. She led him back to the dressing room then wandered over to the jewelry department while she waited.  
  
As he slipped on the ready-made clothes and stared at his reflection in the mirror, William remembered his tailor in London with sad affection. He felt totally indifferent about all of the garments so he picked one at random and went off to find Dawn. She wasn't at the jewelry counter where she had said she'd be.....nor in women's clothes, perfume, audio, or any other section of the store. He wandered up and down the aisles searching for the brown haired girl, as a sick feeling began to build in the pit of his stomach.  
  
Finally he discovered the service counter and asked for help in locating his 'sister'. The woman behind the counter paged Dawn, he could hear her name being broadcast all over the store, "Please meet your party at Customer Service," then he waited for her to respond. Minutes passed. People came and went. William sat on a bench by the counter and waited. And waited....  
  
"Could you just call her again, please?" he entreated almost an hour later.  
  
"Sir, I've already tried twice. Maybe she left the store. Excuse me." The harried woman went off to finish a return for another customer.  
  
William swallowed a sudden urge to leap over the counter, grab the woman, and rip her throat out. Customer Bloody Service indeed! She was right, though, Dawn was obviously not in the store anymore. God only knew where she had got to. He wandered out onto the street and began to search store to store.  
  
***************  
  
Buffy looked at her watch, compared it to the clock, shifted her gym bag on her shoulder, and sighed deeply. Trust Dawn to be late! She had told her specifically to be here by one. Obviously Dawn had lost track of time. She and .....William....were probably enjoying a great lunch somewhere, while Buffy stood here starving. She'd give them twenty more minutes then...... The door to the Fitness Center opened and William entered....alone.  
  
"What happened," Buffy demanded, terrified at the look on his face.  
  
"I'm sorry. I've looked everywhere for her. I don't know what else to do. She said, 'Try these on,' and I did, and when I came out she was just gone. I'm sorry."  
  
"Where? How long ago?" the Slayer asked succinctly.  
  
"It's been, about two hours. At that big store. I don't remember the name. The customer service woman called for her several times. Then I looked in all the shops between there and here."  
  
"How did you find me?"  
  
William pointed outside. "Saw the sign."  
  
"All right." Buffy drew a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves and think through this. "Where there any signs of a struggle? Did anyone say they'd seen something unusual?"  
  
"No. No signs of struggle. And I didn't think to ask anyone, but none of the customers looked alarmed in any way. It took me awhile to realize she wasn't in any of the other departments and to get the lady to call for her. Then I just sat and waited for a long while for her to come back. I wasted so much time!!" William berated himself. "I didn't think..."  
  
"Doesn't matter. Don't worry about it," Buffy responded. "Okay. I want you to take me back every step of the way through your day. If she was taken in broad daylight, it couldn't be a vampire. Maybe a demon or even just some perv....."  
  
A brick crashed through the plate glass window of the Fitness Center and landed practically at Buffy's feet. A brick with a note tied to it. She stared at it for a moment, then stooped to pick it up saying distractedly, "This is fairly unoriginal."  
  
She unwrapped the message and sighed as she read: Slayer. We have your sister, but will trade her for YOU. Come to McKinley Park near the Civil War Memorial at midnight - no weapons - no backup - to make the exchange.  
  
"It just never ends," she complained absently to William. "My life sucks." And she handed him the note.  
  
************* "For the hundredth time....you read the note, too.....it said "no backup". Besides I can't be worrying about protecting you and saving Dawn at the same time," the Slayer insisted.  
  
"And for the hundredth time I'm telling you I can help. I'll stay way back. They'll never know I'm there," William regarded Buffy's stubborn face and tried another tack. "Look. Even if they actually free her and take you, someone has to be there to take care of her and get her home." 'And someone has to watch your back because you can't handle this alone,' he mentally added.  
  
Buffy appeared to consider this, then grudgingly nodded. "All right. You can bring a bag of weapons, too. Just in case. But you're staying so far back even you won't know you're there." The last statement made absolutely no sense whatsoever, but Buffy was way beyond witty repartee at this point. She was more into the realm of panic and despair. Her little sister snatched....again. How many times did this make? Let's see....Harmony, Glory.....assorted demons.....had to be at least a half dozen.  
  
When she shook herself from her reverie, William was already loading the knapsack with weapons from the chest. He had remembered where they were stored she registered, but her mind was quickly on to more pressing issues, such as how to arm herself unobtrusively. There was no way she was marching into a den of....whatever....unprotected. That wouldn't do her or Dawn any good. Also, she was considering whether to tell the rest of the Scoobies what had happened. But that would only worry them and they might attempt some stupid rescue plan that would only endanger them all. Bad enough that poncy William over there was going along.  
  
However, watching him swing a sword around with one hand and heft an axe in the other, Buffy thought he looked a little more useful - more Spikelike - than she could have hoped. Good.  
  
She finally settled on strapping a small knife far up the inside of her thigh, and twisting her hair into a bun held in place by two wicked sharp chopsticks. Now there was nothing to do but wait. Damn villains and their midnight deadlines!  
  
By now it was late afternoon, but there were still many hours to pass. Buffy drew a map of the park and showed William where the meeting point was and where he should hide himself. Then William convinced her to eat something to keep up her strength.  
  
They both managed to choke down an omelet and some fruit. Still it was only 8 p.m.  
  
By 8:30 Buffy stopped pacing and said, "I think we should go early. Scope the place out and maybe I'll be able to surprise them somehow. Or we could shake some information out of Willy. Maybe he's heard somebody planning something. We just can't go in there totally unarmed - with no idea what we're dealing with at all!"  
  
William noted that 'I' had turned into 'we' and smiled. "I could go ahead to the park so I'd be in place early, while you question this 'Willy' person," he suggested.  
  
Buffy looked at him closely. "You wouldn't go barging ahead and muck things up?"  
  
"Definitely not. I'm very cautious by nature."  
  
"All right then. Let's do it. Just remember, you don't make any kind of move until Dawn is free and clear, which you should be able to see from your vantage on the hill. Then you come down and take her home and let me deal with the rest of it. No heroics!"  
  
"Got it. No heroics," he confirmed.  
  
He shouldered the weapons bag, and Buffy tossed on her jacket. They exchanged one long look. William wanted to step forward and kiss her and hold her tight, but she was out the door and headed the opposite way across town before he could make a move. Fine then, he would just have to make sure they both survived this ordeal intact so he could claim that kiss later.  
  
*************** By the time Will reached the park it was late evening and only couples and a few groups of noisy, flirting teens were cruising around the paths. He hiked unnoticed up the hill to the designated spot and hid his weapons bag under a bush. Drawing out a sharp blade, he tested the edge against his finger and instantly blood began welling up. William licked his lips at the sight of the red ooze, then frowned and suppressed the unbidden images of carnage and mayhem that had erupted in his mind.  
  
On the other hand, considering the foe he was about to face, maybe it would be a good idea to draw on those demon memories that still seemed to be lodged somewhere in his brain. As though lifting the lid off Pandora's box, William gently probed under the rocks of his mind to see what evil grubs he could stir up. He leaned against a tree, eyes closed, and let the images sweep over him in waves until he was sick. And every memory was centered around one thing: killing, killing, and killing. That was something he knew how to do very well.  
  
Fine. He would take advantage of the demon's knowledge and use it toward good. The hard part would be finding Dawn. The easy part would be killing every last creature that was holding her hostage and saving her. William swept down the hill in a swirl of black leather. ************** Buffy had Willy, the bartender and part-time snitch, pinned against the wall with his arm drawn painfully up his back.  
  
"I don't have time for twenty questions," she snarled. "If you've heard anything, and I mean ANYTHING, about a kidnap plan, I want to hear it right now!"  
  
"Okay! Jeez, don't break my arm!" he whined. "The other night there were a couple a guys sittin' in the back booth talkin'. And I might have heard them mention the Slayer's sister. But people are always makin' plans against you so I didn't pay much mind. These guys always got some scheme."  
  
"What'd they look like? Who were they?" Buffy pressed, pulling his arm even tighter.  
  
"Ow! Couple of Tagas demons. They ain't too bright. And the guy tellin'em what to do was a vampire named Butch."  
  
"Butch?! A vampire named 'Butch' masterminded it? Well, this couldn't be too hard. Where do I find'em?"  
  
"Right behind you, Slayer," a gravelly voice said, then Buffy felt a sharp blow to the head and blackness descended.  
  
****************  
  
William continued to patrol the park, skulking at the edge of the treeline like a shadow and watching everything that passed through. Having seen nothing more unusual than a drug deal and a couple making love behind a bush, he had just decided to withdraw to his spot on the hill when a couple of Tagas demons carrying a suspiciously large bundle came into view. The thing looked like a roll of carpet draped over one of the creature's shoulders, but the lumpiness of it suggested unconscious body. The ex- vampire followed at a cautious distance.  
  
The hulking, hairy humanoids walked through the park to the very hill he had been located on and entered the wide opening of a storm drain, stooping and dragging their burden behind them. William waited until he could no longer hear their shuffling and muttering, then slipped into the tunnel behind them.  
  
"Butch is gonna be pleased about this," he faintly heard one of the kidnappers say. "We got the Slayer without a fight AND we got the sister!"  
  
"Talk about being in the right place at the right time," his companion agreed. "We'll have to take care of that jabbering Willy later, though. He woulda give everything away. Damn good thing we happened in when we did."  
  
"Think Butch'll give us a taste, too?"  
  
"I doubt it. He's a sonuvabitch....." The talk trailed off into a mutter that was covered by the increasing sound of rushing water from somewhere farther up the tunnel. William continued to scuttle along in a half crouch through the narrow tube until he reached a wide open area where rungs climbed up to a grate in the street and several branches of the tunnel system forked off into different directions. In the echoing chamber it was hard to tell from which tunnel the kidnappers' voices drifted. William froze and listened intently, then began to follow the diminishing sounds down the widest of the three choices.  
  
After what felt like hours to his aching back, but was probably only twenty minutes, he saw a dim light ahead and heard loud voices. William crept as close to the drain's entrance as he dared and peered into the lair where Buffy and Dawn were held captive. There seemed to be more underground chambers in this town than anyplace he'd ever been. With that thought, memories of Paris in 1902 crowded in on him. As the relative youngster in the group, it had fallen on him to bring food back to Angelus and Co. when they were too wasted on absinthe to bother to go out and hunt for themselves. He felt a sudden pang of sympathy for the Tagas minions who likely wouldn't get a drop and most probably would be killed for their efforts on their leader's behalf now that they had fulfilled their function. William mentally shook himself. When would these twisted demon memories leave him be!  
  
He leaned forward to survey the room, the dim light casting sharp highlights and shadows over his angular features. Dawn, tied and terrified, was huddled in one corner of the room. Buffy, still rolled in a piece of material, was laying in the center of the room as the vampire and his flunkies circled her. William sat, still as death, calculating the risks to the victims as he planned and discarded various rescue scenarios.  
  
"So this is the famous Slayer." Butch kicked the bundle on the floor and a soft groan arose. "Doesn't seem like much. And you two just bopped her once on the head and she went down? Amazing how legends build up around the most ordinary people. Seems to me this girl just had an incredible run of good luck and now it's run out."  
  
The two demons chuckled supportively, then the shorter one nudged his partner encouraging him to ask for their payment.  
  
"Uh....sir. We were just wondering about.....you know....our share. Maybe we could have the girl?" He nodded toward Dawn, licking his lips hungrily.  
  
"Perhaps. I'll get back to you on that," their boss hedged. "Meanwhile, unwrap the Slayer. Let's have a look at her."  
  
The minions obeyed, untying and unrolling the fabric to reveal the delicate blond girl nestled within. Blood had run from the wound on her head, matting her hair and trickling over her face. Her skin was pale, eyes closed, and breathing ragged, but William was not deceived. He could FEEL her from across the room, coiled like a spring, just waiting for the right moment to strike. In response his body tensed for battle too.  
  
The foolish vampire leaned over his intended victim, deeply breathing the intoxicating scent of her blood. "Ah, this is going to be good....." His words were cut off by a punch to the throat and a kick that took his legs out from under him. He fell forward onto the Slayer and she grappled with his beefy form.  
  
William froze for a moment as memories were triggered and instinct kicked in, then the single-minded imperative rose like a shining beacon in his mind; Save Dawn. That's what he was made to do - protect the girl at all costs.  
  
He catapulted from the opening of the tunnel, smoothly impaling the first of the Tagas demons on his sword. Before he could free the blade, however, the second was upon him, attacking from behind. William smashed his head back into the creature's face, momentarily blinding it, as he struggled to pull his weapon from the other body. He glanced up to see Dawn's wide eyes watching the fight, and Buffy still grappling with the vampire on the floor. Then the blade drew free and he swung around to face his second opponent.  
  
Suddenly not liking the odds, the Tagas abruptly turned tail and dove for the tunnel. William grabbed an ankle and dragged it back into the room, hacking furiously all the while. When he was satisfied the thing wouldn't rise up again, he turned his attention to Buffy and her combatant punching and kicking each other mercilessly. Butch may have been an upstart vampire, but he was tenacious, and the Slayer was injured and tired. William stepped forward to lend a hand.  
  
With a roar he pulled the vamp off her, hauled him up and spun him around. He battered his face and body viciously. As Butch tried to regroup from this unexpected attack from behind, William simply grabbed his head and twisted. The vamp's neck made a sickening snap and he exploded into dust. Suddenly the only sounds in the room were Buffy and William's panting breaths and Dawn's quiet sniffling.  
  
"That was almost anti-climatic," Buffy managed to quip, as William reached a hand down to help her to her feet. Their hands clasped, as they had so many times after a battle and he pulled her up. In that instant, heaving and sweating, hands joined and eyes locked, a surge of recognition broke over William, but before he could process the feeling, Buffy's leg gave way and she started to fall.  
  
"Damn! I think I sprained my ankle kicking that little shit," she gasped. He helped her ease back down to the floor.  
  
"I'm okay. Get Dawn," she ordered, and, as always, her word was his command. He quickly crossed the room and cut the ropes binding the girl and tore the gag from her mouth. She collapsed into his arms, crying.  
  
"You alright, Niblet?" he asked, holding her and stroking her hair, as she nodded and whimpered. "Everything's going to be fine," he crooned soothingly. "Let's get you home." He glanced over at the Slayer, who was pulling herself back to her feet with the aide of the wall. He lifted one eyebrow questioningly and she nodded back at him.  
  
"I don't think it's broken," she croaked. "I'll make it. I'm just a little stiff.....and embarrassed. Rescued by a pansy Englishman!" She smiled, teasingly.  
  
"Can you walk, sweetheart," William questioned Dawn. "Cause it looks like we're going to have to help your sis."  
  
"Sure. I'm fine," Dawn pulled herself together and put on a brave front. She always told everyone she could handle herself under pressure if they just gave her a chance - now was the time to prove it. 'Be cool, Dawn.' her mind urged.  
  
"Let us help you, Buffy. You're hurt!" The teenager reveled in fussing over her older sister, checking out the swollen ankle, and supporting her with an arm around her shoulders.  
  
William could easily have lifted the petite girl himself and carried her out, but he recognized Dawn's need to be needed. He had certainly felt it often enough himself.  
  
So he explored the chamber looking for an alternate exit that didn't entail scrambling up a drain pipe with an injured girl. He found a much shorter way that brought them straight to the cemetery and soon the three were out in the cool night air headed for home.  
  
As they walked Buffy along, supporting her on either side, William realized that he suddenly knew these two girls - REALLY knew them - and that they were the most important thing in his life. They made up his life. They were his to protect - his to love.  
  
As though a floodgate had burst, memories began to flow over him in waves.  
  
He remembered the first time he had ever seen Buffy, dancing at the Bronze, and how excited she had made him - how eager he had been to challenge her. He remembered the times they had battled and verbally cut one another until both were psychically bleeding. Their first kiss came back to him in all its unexpected wonder. He remembered his hostile relationships with all her friends, and the calm acceptance Joyce had always shown him. And he remembered Dawn; little sister, confidante, playmate, cherished one. Her trusting gaze could make him feel like the hero he never was.  
  
His memories of life before Sunnydale had returned, too, but held no more weight or substance than a wisp of dream. All the violent, unspeakable acts he and his companions had committed as they rampaged across the planet were like pictures in a book and held no connection to William. They were ugly memories and couldn't be changed, but they were faded by time and distance. It was as though his life only began recently, in this town, with this woman by his side - and that's all he need know.  
  
He embraced the memory of their love-making in all its permutations from violence to tenderness. He stole a sideways glance at Buffy now, her mouth drawn tight in pain, face pale, and felt such an overwhelming joy in her presence that tears sprang to his eyes. He wanted to share his new-old knowledge with her, but the time wasn't right. Time enough later to let her know that her Spike was back.  
  
************* Two weeks later -  
  
A bedroom, lit by the rosy glow of a decorative lamp. A bed, rumpled covers thrown back. Two naked forms entwined, stretched out, luxuriating in their closeness. Legs snaked around each other. Hands, palm to palm, fingers playing together, stroking, teasing.  
  
"Stop me if you've heard this one. There's this blond who goes to buy a car...."  
  
"Stop."  
  
Murmured voices, a deep vibrating chuckle and answering woman's laugh. Wet, smacking sounds and little sighs of contentment.  
  
"Okay, how 'bout this, I just got it off the internet today...."  
  
"Stop."  
  
"Slay-er." A sing-song complaint.  
  
"Will-iam." A giggle, quickly muffled by a conquering mouth. "Mmph."  
  
A rustle of movement and creak of the bed frame. More wet kisses and quiet "mmmmm's" building in intensity.  
  
"Oooh not again. You wear me out."  
  
"What happened to your Super Slayer Strength? I'm just a poor, weak mortal. You should be the one tiring me out!"  
  
More giggles and caresses, skin on skin, sliding and smacking. Panting breaths. Grunts of pleasure. Rapturous moans.  
  
A curve of throat, cut of cheekbone, flutter of eyelash, tangle of hair.  
  
"Ah, ah, ah....." Shifting shadows on the wall. Reflected images in a mirror. Two figures coming together and separating again and again.  
  
"Ah, ah...yessss.....like that......"  
  
Arching. Plunging. Engulfing. Devouring.  
  
Two become one.  
  
A growl. A cry. Deep sighs. And peace.  
  
Another night on Revello Drive in Sunnydale, USA.  
  
End 


End file.
